The Seduction of Wes Janson
by MoKat
Summary: Wes Janson has his own undercover mission during the New Republic's push to re-take Coruscant – a mission that will test his skills, his wit, his loyalty, his sobriety. How far is he willing to go to defeat the Empire once and for all? Rogue Squadron
1. Chapter 1

**The Seduction of Wes Janson**

_Wes Janson has his own undercover mission during the New Republic's push to re-take Coruscant – a mission that will test his skills, his wit, his loyalty, his sobriety. How far is he willing to go to defeat the Empire once and for all? Wes Janson, Winter, X-Wing, Rogue Squadron._

_**(Set during the novels **__**X-Wing: Rogue Squadron**__** and **__**X-Wing: Wedge's Gamble**__** by Michael A. Stackpole.)**_

_Rated T for language, sexual situations and descriptions of drug usage. _

**6ABY**

Chapter 1

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Janson, you have been officially court martialed. Finally." General Cracken leaned over his regulation-issued desk in the recently assembled modular office structure that served as the New Republic Intelligence's current base of operations. His dignified bearing and placid expression gave no indication that he intended his statement to be humorous. In fact, it gave no indication at all.

_Check the eyes_, the erstwhile Lieutenant Wes Janson - ace X-Wing pilot, seminal member of Rogue Squadron, veteran of the Battles of Hoth, Endor and countless others, friend of the powerful Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles, hero of the New Republic, and self-proclaimed all-around good guy – thought nervously. _The eyes always give away the true feelings._ But try as he might, Wes couldn't determine whether General Cracken's eyes were being tightly constrained in their sockets lest they roll backwards with mocking hysteria or were just bored and eager to move on to something more interesting than one slightly used and disposable cross-wing jockey.

"Um, thank you, sir?" Wes tried. "Do I get a say in this?"

"No." The curt answer came from the coldly beautiful crystal-white haired woman that stood to the left of General Cracken's desk. The elegant grace with which she carried herself complemented the formality in her tone, giving her the air of consummate professionalism that Wes remembered. "I arranged this personally. I assure you, it is precisely aligned with your _unique_ profile."

Wes tilted his head and pursed his lips. Whenever Winter arranged something personally, there was very little that anyone could do or needed to do. In the couple years he had known her, he had never seen her do anything less than perfect - including, regretfully, having an unfortunate immunity to his wit and sagacity. What the hell, he decided. This could only add to his carefully cultivated aura of danger and mystique. Chicks liked that. "Very well, my _uniquely _felonious ears are all yours."

Winter waited for General Cracken's assenting nod before continuing with the mission brief. "You are West Jasso, former Commander in the Eiattu Planetary Defense Corps."

"Eiattu?" Wes queried in a surprised tone. "And why former?"

Winter cocked her head sideways and gave him a longsuffering look that said she wouldn't be suffering his interruptions much longer. "May I continue?"

Wes smiled charmingly and showed his palms in a gesture of submission to her prim reprimand. It had been awhile since he had worked directly with Winter and he had forgotten how…_serious_ she could get.

"We picked Eiattu because you are already familiar with its land and its people. We do not have time for an in-depth ramp up to this assignment. Empress Isplourrdacartha was more than happy to provide corroborating documentation for her former Rogue Squadron mate."

"I bet she was, especially the court martial part." Wes grimaced at the hearty peal of Plourr's mocking laughter he could hear clearly in his ear. When this was over, he would have to give his old squadron mate a visit and take full advantage of her royal hospitality. Complete and utter advantage. It was the least she could do since he was providing her such amusing entertainment. But then again, it would be just like Plourr to arrest West Jasso on the spot and entertain herself with his incarceration, feigning ignorance of anyone named Wes Janson. Hmm, it might take some work, but he would figure out a way to do it.

Winter continued as if he hadn't spoken. "You were in command of an elite squadron of Z-95 Headhunters. Your unit excelled above all others on the planet. Unfortunately, you were court-martialed and dishonorably discharged six months ago when it was discovered that you had been using illegal substances to enhance your physical and mental capacities."

"Spice?" Wes couldn't refrain from barking. "I'm a glit-biter?"

"The pressure got to you and you cracked." Winter droned. "It was very tragic. Currently you are an independent shuttle cab operator on Coruscant ferrying passengers to and from orbital cruisers. You barely eke out a living, spending what little credit you do get on the best booze, spice and pleasure entertainment that the undercity has to offer."

"Doesn't sound so bad," Wes started to grin but quickly squelched it when he saw the grim look in Winter's eye.

"When you arrive, you will patronize an establishment called '_The Cave_.' It is a popular holosim club on the edge of the Uscru Entertainment District frequented by brash young thrill seekers eager to test their skill and nerve in high risk activities - without any real chance of injury, of course."

Winter paused to look up at Wes, who thankfully was paying rapt attention. "Your mission is to make contact with a man known as 'Chant.' He is a mid-level information broker among the sublevels of Coruscant, relatively unremarkable except for the fact that he has exactly what we need."

"Which is?" Wes prompted.

General Cracken leaned in. "A map of Coruscant."

Wes's eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. There were plenty of maps to be had for free on the holonet. The streets of Coruscant were no secret, though admittedly they did constantly change with the perpetual urban renewal of automated construction droids. And while the planetary databanks were more than capable of storing and transmitting the fluid regurgitations of cityscape, collating that information from the billions of data sources on the ecumenopolis was probably not high on the Empire's priority list. It probably got done when it got done.

"Chant is heavily involved in a particular branch of holosim activity that is reality based. It is very similar to your training simulators, actually. The holosims emulate swoop racing through the busiest corridors of Coruscant, pod racing in the canyons of Tatooine, solar sailing among the asteroids of Kwindu and many other similarly risky ventures." Winter's lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. "They even have a starfighter battle complete with TIEs and X-Wings, though the Empire requires all participants serve as Imperial fighters and only allow the computer to run the Rebel X-Wings."

Wes snorted. "Ok, again, that sounds like fun, but why do you need me? I have no special training for Intelligence work. Wouldn't it be better to use one of your operatives?"

"We need you, Lieutenant Janson." Winter gazed at him steadily. "Chant has refused to parlay with the New Republic unless they can prove to him that they stand a chance to defeat the Empire. To do that, he has issued a challenge. Our operative must defeat him in the holosims before he will hand over the map."

"Doesn't sound hard." Wes said without a shred of false modesty. "What's so special about this map?"

"As a corollary to his holosims, Chant maintains an almost real-time database of Coruscant topography. He has sources that feed him datastreams from every sector and every level reflecting what is scheduled to happen and what is actually happening. He compiles these sources and creates a holomap of the entire surface of Coruscant with precision detail and accuracy unrivaled by any government effort. And to top off the physical structural detail, he has spent considerable effort in maintaining a verified listing of residences, businesses and governmental facilities tied to each structure."

"The latter government facilities being the critical factor, I presume?" Wes perceptively asked.

"Suffice it to say it is very thorough and very current," General Cracken said. "I'm sure you understand that for operational security reasons I can't tell you exactly why we need that map, but it's important that you understand this map will be critical to the future of the New Republic."

This time Wes's eyes widened knowingly. There was only one reason why the New Republic would need a detailed and current map of Coruscant and as far as he was concerned, it was about bloody time. Re-taking Coruscant would mean the culmination of the last seven plus years of hard fighting, painful losses and tireless planning. So many people – so many friends – had died for precisely this goal. Jek Porkins, Zev Senesca, Ibtisam, Dllr Nep… so many, many more. "Understood, sir." Wes said, nodding his head with great satisfaction.

General Cracken returned his gaze solemnly. "This mission is a crucial building block for many missions to come. I know you don't normally do intelligence work and I appreciate your willingness to take this mission on." The seemingly placid general stood now and began pacing the length of the room. "From what I understand Chant is very good in the holosim. Do not underestimate him. Your experience as a Rogue Squadron pilot is what made me call on you but Winter will be there to assist you. She has seniority on this mission and is responsible for all operational decisions. Treat her as you would your commanding officer. I regret that we do not have more time to offer you some training, but if you follow Winter's lead and don't interfere with her job, you should be fine." He stopped to lean in toward Wes.

"Make no mistake, Lieutenant Janson. Mr. Chant has precisely what we need and he _will_ give it to us. I want you to understand that obtaining that map is your highest priority. This mission is just as vital as any you ever flew for Rogue Squadron, if not more so."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The observation deck was crowded as the _Jeweled Nebulon_ entered high orbit around Imperial Center. Humans from worlds as far flung as Tatooine and Geonosis jostled elbows and bumped shoulders with humans from neighboring Core Worlds. All were eager to view the spectacular vision of a planet completely covered in artificially produced light waves powerful enough to be seen from three Imperial A. U.'s away.

Most of the conversation on the observation deck expressed awe and amazement at this magfnificent human achievement. The Empire was carefully credited with 'beautifying' the long since subsumed surface of the planet. Trails of naturally occurring neon gas flashed brilliant shades of red and orange, lit by the discharge of millions of vehicles in the busy space lanes, creating frequent rainbows as the light dispersed into its spectrum and added an ethereal quality to the experience.

Wes didn't see the light or the neon gas or the rainbows, and he certainly didn't see the Empire's so-called beautification. When Wes looked out the viewports of the _Jeweled Nebulon_ he saw a world held captive by evil and cruelty. He saw orbital solar mirrors reflecting the weak rays of the distant sun down to those fortunate enough to live on the upper levels of a planet-wide ecumenopolis that extended upwards several kilometers, effectively blocking any hope of access to the precious natural light for those who lived deep below. He saw the weapons platforms placed at tightly spaced intervals surrounding the planet, interspersed among the thousands of atmospheric dampeners that kept the air of the ancient, overpopulated planet breathable. He saw hundreds of thousands of Imperial vessels of all types in orbit around the planet, waiting to be cleared by Imperial Flight Control. He saw targets.

What he didn't see was the planetary shield that he knew protected Coruscant from external attack better than any space-faring star destroyer or weapons platform ever could. Wes knew the difficulty the New Republic would have in re-taking Imperial Center and returning it to its original Coruscant name that was used for hundreds of thousands of years before the Emperor was even conceived. Any attack fleet would have to contend not only with the Imperial capital ships that were stationed strategically in-system but it would also have to defend against those heavily fortified weapons platforms he saw and thousands of surface embattlements he didn't see. An attack on Imperial Center was an undertaking that would rival everything the Rebellion had accomplished so far.

Wes's practiced tactical eye recognized the titanic obstacles inherent in such an ambitious goal. He didn't know how they could be overcome – he would be the first to admit he was no admiral – but he was determined that he would do his part. Wes Janson would jump into this mission with both feet - laughing and howling at the enemy all the way and doing his damnedest to get them before they got him - just like he always did and hope to hell the real generals and admirals knew what they were doing.

"C'mon, honey." Winter looped her hand around the crook of Wes's arm and leaned her head on his shoulder so that only he could hear her. "Remember we are always being watched."

Wes stiffened slightly before relaxing and giving her the most charming smile he could muster. "No problem, darlin'." He pulled her in closer and looped his arm around her shoulder so he could speak just as quietly. "Is this display really necessary, though?"

Winter barely managed to suppress her startle of surprise. "Yes," she hissed more vehemently than she had intended. This was not the reaction she had anticipated. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

His answer was lost in the swell of excited chatter and anticipatory commotion as the ship's captain made the announcement of final orbit stage and the passengers scrambled for their designated departure berths. The remaining distance to Coruscant would be travelled by shuttle since M-class luxury liners like the _Jeweled Nebulon_ were not designed for atmospheric travel. Already Wes could feel the subtle tell-tale vibrations in the deck that indicated docking procedures were occurring on the port side airlocks. The _Jeweled Nebulon_ was on the small side for an M-Class luxury liners, barely 110 meters long and therefore not big enough for its own hangar deck. Not that the owners would have wasted perfectly good paid passenger space on something as convenient as a hanger. No, disembarking the _Jeweled Nebulon_ was accomplished via a series of compression airlock chambers that ultimately led to hired shuttles ranging from the relatively large but crowded Curich-class shuttles that the bulk of the passengers rode, to decrepit pre-Imperial tri-wing shuttles on which only the poorest or most impatient rode. Every imaginable class and conditioned shuttle crowded around the _Jeweled Nebulon_, waiting their turn in line to gather as many passenger fares as possible.

Winter guided Wes to the number 4 airlock and waited expectantly in the docking foyer. Her face was carefully schooled in a look of vague disinterest as she let several other passengers pass ahead of them as shuttle after shuttle docked and then disembarked, carrying the departing humans to Coruscant's surface. Finally, she nodded to Wes to board a modified Lambda-class shuttle that had patiently waited its turn in the long line of hired shuttle cabs.

Wes followed Winter up the aisle of the dank and musty shuttle that had obviously seen better days. The interior had been stripped of accoutrements in favor of cheap, utilitarian seats squeezed as tightly together as possible to maximize passenger revenue. No view ports marred the smooth lining of the hull and the cargo space had been severely curtailed. This Lambda-class shuttle, which very well could have been part of the original manufacturing run from well over 20 years earlier judging by the condition of all observable surfaces, had been converted into a no-frills for-hire cab shuttle with no luxuries to spare. It was questionable whether the 'fresher would even be functional, if it existed at all.

Winter didn't sit in any of the faded or stained seats. She passed the hostess – or pilot, it was impossible to tell – and kept marching straight up the aisle to the cockpit door. A small knock and the hatch opened just a crack. Winter leaned in and whispered something to the being on the other side of the door that succeeded in opening the door far enough for her to enter.

Winter pulled Wes with her as they stepped into the darkness of the cockpit illuminated only by the panel indicators and the floodlights of the _Jeweled Nebulon_ immediately outside the view panel.

"Welcome aboard!" The man in the pilot's seat seemed genuinely happy to see them. "Are you my new employees?"

Wes stood by impassively as Winter introduced them by their cover identities. "Rima Borealis and West Jasso, at your service." She shook his hand warmly, deftly palming a credit chit that Wes was sure was attached to a quite generously stocked bank account. "We look forward to a mutually beneficial tenure in the employ of Pahkli Cab Service."

"Yes, yes. Indeed." The short, slightly graying human was bobbing his head enthusiastically. "I'm always glad to have reliable, competent employees. Please take the co-pilot and navigator's seat." He waved at two of the bucket seats in the cockpit and turned to enter a locking code, sealing the cockpit door. He twirled the chit in his hands and pressed it quickly into a scanner. "Your people are quite generous, though I must make it clear this is not about the money. I accept your remuneration because I have a family to feed, but even without it, I would do what I could."

"Thank you, Damos." Winter's cool alto sliced through the darkened cockpit. "You are recognized as a friend. You and your family will not be forgotten." She motioned Wes to take the co-pilot's seat as she settled into the navigator's position. "Let's run through this shuttle's operations. If we are to be flying it, we need to be intimately familiar with its quirks and idiosyncrasies."

Wes was not surprised at how quickly Winter got down to business. This was the no-nonsense operative he had met on Cilpar so many years ago. This was who he had anticipated working with. Her unexpectedly familiar manner on board the _Jeweled Nebulon_ was gone and in its place was the New Republic's most coldly efficient and deadly capable intelligence agent. Wes turned his attention to the control panel - but not because he was afraid of missing some important detail about flying this dilapidated ship. He could fly any ship he had ever seen in his sleep, no matter what condition it was in. No, Wes Janson turned his attention to the control panel so the beautiful but deadly covert agent sitting next to him would not see the immense relief on his face.

--ooOoo--

The apartment made no attempt to be anything other than what it was – a dismally bland box that promised temporary shelter and nothing more. No splashes of color lightened the windows or softened the bed. No knickknacks sat on the lone dusty shelf in the corner that functioned as the food preparation area. Only the bare minimum furniture disrupted the meager floor space inside the box. It was just an ordinary flat in only slightly better condition – inasmuch as it didn't host a family of fur-spiders – than the billions of other apartments in the dark Coruscanti undercity.

This apartment, though, currently hosted two undercover New Republic agents on a mission that would pave the way for the eventual liberation of Coruscant from the grasping remnant of the dead Palpatine's Empire.

"Don't get too comfortable," Winter admonished Wes after she had made a thorough sweep of the empty apartment with her scanning devices. Wes had plopped down on the narrow couch and stretched his feet out on the spindly center table. "We've got errands to run."

"Already?" Wes asked. "Not that I'm complaining, but you don't want to rest? We've been doing the cab runs all day. It might be good to go in fresh."

"We need to scope the holosim club before we take a run at it." Winter explained as she surveyed the contents of the apartment. "And it looks like we will need to do a little shopping. There's nothing here." She grimaced at the empty drawers she inspected one by one.

"I could use some food." Wes agreed, patted his growling stomach. "And an appropriate wardrobe for this club. What does the fashionable holosimpleton wear these days?"

Winter looked up from her rummaging and gave a disapproving glare at his flippancy before pursing her lips thoughtfully and scrutinizing him from head to toe. "I think you should stick with classic black," she said slowly, turning the image in her mind. "We want you to be cocky and urbane and project a formidable air." She focused on his hair and tilted her head sideways. "Maybe we can slick up your hair a little."

"So, what you're saying is I should just dress normally." Wes grinned. The black cargo pants, threadbare black t-shirt and slightly frayed gray vest he wore now – and had been wearing for the last 18 hours straight – had been calculated to convey an air of haplessness that befit his cover but would have been discarded by the real Wes months ago.

"Some nerfleather would spice it up a bit, too." Winter mused, still staring at his reclining form. "Maybe just a jacket. We don't want to overdo it."

"One can never wear too much leather, my darling." Wes admonished with an admirable impersonation of a Kuati grande dame fashionista. "And speaking of spice, I wanted to talk to you about that." His expression took on an air of discomfort and his eyes fluttered away from Winter's direct gaze. "I might have trouble pulling that off," he admitted. "Can't we just stick to alcohol? I make a really convincing drunk. I've had lots of practice at that."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage just fine." Winter smiled sweetly. "I doubt you will need to prove that part of your cover anyways. That's mostly for Imperial benefit should you get picked up. I doubt Chant will be interested in your cover story at all. He will most likely spot us immediately."

"Most likely?" Wes looked up sharply. "He doesn't know who we are?"

"Of course not." Winter shook her deceptively delicate white-capped head. "He refused all customary contact protocols. He said he would only deal with the victor in a head-to-head holosim battle. I think he has something special planned and I wouldn't be surprised if it involves that X-Wing vs. TIE fighter program he has."

Wes nodded. Chant sounded like he was a typical wanna-be trying to prove himself worthy of the real-world cross-jockeys. People like Chant would never understand the true character of a fighter pilot as long as they stayed in their artificial holosim environment. It wasn't about the thrill. It wasn't even about the skill. Until people like Chant were willing to take a side and commit their very life to that cause, willing to sacrifice everything they had in the service of others, they could never understand. Skill was important, of course. But even more important was the heart and soul of that pilot.

Wes sprang up from the couch and stood lightly, ready to engage. There was no sign that the last 18 plus hours of travel and piloting had fatigued him at all. "Let's go then."

--ooOoo--

_The Cave_ was aptly named. On a busy street near the seedy edge of the renowned Uscru Entertainment District saturated with flashing neon lights and the constant motion of beings and vehicles of all shapes and sizes whizzing by, it was a maw of silence and darkness receding from the frenzied glitz. It was sandwiched between a techno nightclub that appeared to be frequented mostly by Bith and an unkempt instant food dispensary that attracted only equally unkempt undercity denizens. The only activity appeared to be the occasional customer exiting _The Cave_ long enough to secure minimal sustenance at the neighboring instant food dispensary and immediately disappearing back into the darkness of _The Cave_.

Wes and Winter sat in the tapcafe across the street slowly eating their meal and sipping their stim tea. It was their last stop on their list of errands and bags of purchased goods were heaped on the floor beside them.

"We're not going to get much out here," growled Wes finally. His instincts were urging him to mount a full frontal assault on the darkly taunting orifice across the street. The danger on Coruscant was from discovery by Imperial Stormtroopers, not the escapist idiots across the street. Hell, he should be in there recruiting those guys. If they wanted thrills, he could show them thrills.

"Be patient." Winter advised him. "90 percent of undercover work is waiting. Maybe we'll get lucky and Chant himself will come out before we leave."

Just then the entrance to _The Cave_ slid open again and a large man in a long black overcoat hulked momentarily in the doorway. He looked up and down the street before cautiously stepping out onto the walkway.

"Is that him?" Wes asked lowly, calmly sipping the tea in the container he held in front of his face.

Winter shook her head slightly, being careful to not look directly at him. "Might be his muscle, though." Suddenly she giggled and reached a hand up to touch Wes's cheek demurely. She leaned in cozily and laid her other hand on Wes's arm.

Wes sucked in his breath sharply, his eyes widening in surprise until he realized the large man was heading directly for them. 'Follow my lead,' Winter had told him. He could do that. Up to a point.

Wes laughed back at their unknown joke and patted her arm affectionately. He downed the rest of the stim tea and looked up just in time to catch the eye of the large man as he entered the tapcafe where they sat. Wes smiled politely and inclined his head in greeting but the man just grunted and brushed past them to the counter, where he ordered some food and stood waiting.

Wes ignored the restraining pressure on his arm from Winter's hand as he got up and went to the counter to order another tea. "Greetings." He nodded to the man again and looked back at the dark door across the street. "That _The Cave_?"

The man's eyes narrowed as he looked at Wes sideways. He grunted again noncommittally but made no further effort to respond.

"I've heard _The Cave_ hosts the best holosims on Coruscant." Wes offered.

The grunt this time was derisive. "The best in the Empire, you mean." The man's voice, when he finally spoke, was uncultured downlevel speech. Winter's estimation of his hired muscle status appeared to be accurate.

"You a Player?" Wes asked, knowing this would feed the man's ego. Holosim aficionados liked being referred to that way. It had just the right rakish star quality they fancied for themselves.

The big man's lips curled back, showing his teeth in a sneering imitation of a smile. "Kriffing straight I am."

"Any good?" Wes prodded.

"You challenging me?" The big man growled. "Who are you?"

Wes stuck out his hand. "West Jasso. I'm just looking for some play. What's it take to get in _The Cave_?"

The man ignored his hand and shrugged. "Public's welcome. Ten credits a game."

"That's nice." Wes responded airily. "Now what's it take to get some real play?" He lowered his voice and leaned in slightly, allowing his posture to convey the challenge the man had suggested earlier.

The man snorted. "Thought so. You think you're something special, dontcha?" He shook his head and finally took a good look at Wes. "You don't look like anything special. Where you from?"

Wes leaned back, resting his elbow on the counter. "I live here now. Looking for a place to get the rush. Heard about _The Cave_ and thought I'd check it out. See if it lives up to its reputation."

The man paid for his order and turned to leave, taking his food with him. "C'mon over any time. Ask for Bex." He glanced at the table where Winter sat and then leered at Wes. "Bring the pretty lady with you, eh?" He chuckled smarmily on his way out, not bothering to hide his ogling of Winter.

Wes sat back down with Winter and only then noticed that she was staring at him. "What?" he asked warily.

"Let's go." Winter said curtly, grabbing the bags from the floor. Wes grabbed the remaining bags and followed her silently back to the apartment, wishing they had a droid for all this manual labor. Since when had _bellhop_ become part of his job description?

The apartment door snicked shut behind Wes and Winter immediately held an angry hand up at him that froze him into a statue while she performed her customary scan for listening devices. "What was that about?" she demanded as she snapped shut the scanning device and shoved it forcefully back into a pocket Wes hadn't noticed. The shopping bags were forgotten as she turned abruptly in front of Wes and stood crowding him against the door, her eyes flashing with anger. "We weren't prepared to make contact yet."

Wes shrugged and sidled sideways, futilely trying to get out of Winter's blast radius. "Aw, c'mon, superspy. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Now we have an indirect association through which to observe Chant before we approach him. You did say he wouldn't be interested in our cover story. A little extra distance won't hurt."

"You got lucky. That could have been really awkward." Winter followed Wes into the food preparation area where he was busy putting away the food packages and not looking at Winter.

"Luck is the secret of my success." Wes agreed glibly.

Winter was silent for several minutes as they finished the chore of stocking the apartment. They had brought nothing with them and would be taking nothing with them when they left, but in the meantime, they still needed the necessities of food, hygiene and clothing.

"If you have a problem with me, you should have said so before accepting this assignment." Winter spoke quietly, her back to Wes as she closed the last drawer. "We're stuck now, so let's get it out in the open."

"What are you talking about?" denied Wes. "I admit I took a risk but it was not intended as an insult to your authority. Surely you know me better than that."

"I thought I did," Winter muttered before taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders. She turned around and took a couple steps toward Wes. "I'm concerned about our identities now."

Wes looked confused. "How so?"

In answer, Winter quizzed him. "Who are you?"

"West Jasso." Wes answered easily. "Which, by the way – why so close to my own name? Won't that be obvious to the Imps?"

Winter shrugged. "You're a novice. A similar name is easier to remember and cover should you slip up." She took another step toward Wes. "And who am I?"

"Rima Borealis – shuttle pilot and fellow employee of Pahkli Cab Service." Wes answered again. "Where you going with this?"

Winter reached out to take Wes' hand and brought it to her face. "What else am I?" she murmured softly, pressing her lips against his fingers.

"Stop that!" Wes jerked his hand away from her face and took a step backwards, wrapping his arms around his chest. "What did you do that for?" he demanded.

Winter shook her head sadly. "Of all the problems I thought we might have, it never occurred to me that you would have a problem touching me." She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. "The great lothario Wes Janson has a distaste for Dame Winter. Who would have guessed? Well, you don't have to like me to do your job, Janson. That's all I'm asking."

Wes's face darkened as the color crept up his cheeks. "It's not like that," he growled. "I like you just fine." He fumbled stiffly against the chair as he took another step back.

"Really?" Winter asked sarcastically. "That's why you flinch every time I touch you? That's why you avoid getting closer than two feet away from me? That's why you're retreating even now? What's going to happen when you take me in _The Cave_ and introduce me as your girlfriend? When they see you don't act like a protective boyfriend they will rightly be suspicious and wonder who exactly we are. They'll ask questions and probe for information. Remember, Chant is an information broker. I'm sure he surrounds himself with people who understand that information is a valuable commodity and won't hesitate to profit off of something so irresistible as Rebel spies. So much for your effort at strengthening our cover then."

Wes's face turned downcast as he considered what Winter had said. "Aw, hell," he muttered, cursing himself for not being as coldly ruthless as Winter obviously was. He paced the length of the room while Winter watched him expectantly. "You said he probably wouldn't care about our cover, though." He grasped weakly at the last defense he could think of.

"Spill it, Janson," she hissed impatiently. "What's got you so worked up you can't even hug an old friend?"

Wes stopped pacing and stared intently at Winter. She was giving him no choice. "Tycho's alive," he said quietly.

Winter's eyes widened but she otherwise showed no reaction to his comment. "This is about Tycho?"

Wes frowned, his worst fear coming true right before his eyes. His friend and fellow Rogue pilot Tycho Celchu, had been shot down and presumed dead several months ago only to be rescued from the worst Imperial prison imaginable. Wes knew Tycho and Winter had something going on, but he wasn't quite sure how serious it was. Oh, he knew Tycho wanted Winter. He had seen Tycho moon enough over her whenever she left after one of the brief rendezvous they managed to steal between their mutual calls to duty. He just wasn't sure whether Winter saw Tycho the same way or whether he was just convenient stress relief for her. It wouldn't be the first time soldiers at war used each other this way. Judging from her reaction to his news, those suspicions had been correct. But he thought she would at least care about the hell Tycho had been through and be happy he wasn't dead. "Did you hear me? He's alive. Doesn't that mean anything to you?'

Winter's hand slapped against his face faster than even his battle-honed reflexes could anticipate. "Don't you dare suggest that I would abandon the man I love when he needs me the most!" Her face was distraught now, unable to hide the depths of her emotion anymore as she wrung her hands from the sting of the slap and viciously wiped tears away that threatened to spill down her cheeks. "Of course I know he's alive. Who do you think rescued him? Though I doubt he remembers that. He was delirious by the time I got to him." She sat down weakly on the couch. "I just can't be with him right now. There are… complications. And I have a job to do. Like I always do."

Wes sat down heavily next to her. "I'm sorry,' he said softly, relief flooding his senses. It was so hard to read Winter. That was good for her job but hell on friendships. "Wedge just told me a few days ago. I saw him in the infirmary. Tycho's looking good physically but they still have him under observation." Wes put his arm around her now and squeezed her shoulders. "I think they're going to keep him there for quite some time."

Winter nodded and leaned into Wes's comforting arms. "They have to," she sniffed. "He escaped from Akrit'tar Imperial Prison but before that he was in Lusankya_._ Do you know what that means?"

Wes swallowed. Most of the people who heard the name Lusankya didn't live long afterwards. The rest shivered in horror and fear at the thought of the terrible things done to the inmates in the private prison run by the sadistic Imperial Intelligence Director Ysanne Isard. Rumor had it that people were twisted and warped, re-made into creatures that served Isard alone. No one escaped Lusankya. Not really. It was always with them. Whatever Tycho had gone through, he was damned lucky to be alive. Wes fervently hoped that was a good thing – then immediately felt horrible for thinking such a thought.

"He's a Rogue." Wes said, as much to himself as to Winter. "He'll make it through."

"Yes," Winter gritted. "He will. And I will be there when the time is right."

"You really do love him, don't you?" Wes asked, marveling at the emotional strength she must have to be able to carry on with vital missions for the New Republic despite her personal pain. A relationship during wartime was hell for anyone, but a relationship between two dedicated, loyal soldiers of the cause during that war was unfathomable to him. He wasn't sure he had that kind of strength – which was one of the many reasons he had never bothered to attempt a relationship. And he never would, if he had his way

"Yes, I do." Winter answered firmly, pulling back and looking up at him. "Is that what you needed to hear?"

"It's part of it," Wes admitted. "The other part…" He pulled his arm back from around her shoulders and stood up to put some distance between them. "It's good to know you haven't abandoned Tycho. That puts thing right between you and me. But, that also means… " Wes breathed deeply and released it noisily.

"Hell, Winter! You're Tycho's girl. I don't mess with other men's women. At least not my friends' women." Wes groaned. "Besides, he'll kill me!"

"Emperor's Black Bones, Wes!" Winter swore. "I'm not asking you to kriffing sleep with me! You really are such a… _man_!" Winter heaved a loud sigh of frustration and shook her head. She crossed over to where Wes was standing and took his hand again.

"Look, all we have to do is convince the bad guys that we're a couple, ok? That means some petting and the occasional kiss. And that's it! Ok?"

Wes looked doubtful. "If you say so."

"I do." Winter said. "Now let's see you do it. Kiss me."

"What?" Wes panicked.

"Oh, c'mon." Winter grabbed Wes behind the neck and lowered his head to meet hers.

"Well," she said as she released him. "That's going to convince them that I'm your SISTER!"

Wes looked chagrined. "How about this?" Winter continued thoughtfully. "Try imagining I'm somebody else. I am, after all. I'm Rima Borealis, right? And you're West Jasso. West likes Rima, Rima likes West. Simple as that, right? Now try again."

She placed both hands on his face this time and maintained eye contact all the way through the kiss. "A little better, but still too clinical," she judged. "Isn't there anybody you could pretend I am that floats your boat?"

Wes's eyes widened, then narrowed mischievously. "You could always do your Princess Leia imitation again. That might be kind of fun." He grinned wickedly.

Winter looked at him like he was insane. "You're afraid of Tycho but not Han Solo?"

Wes paled and lost the humor. "Good point." He stretched and ran his hand through his hair. "I just don't know where to draw the line, Winter. It all feels so… risky."

Winter's eyes widened in sudden comprehension. He was a man. He needed clearly defined boundaries. Very well. She could do that. "Wes Janson, you are hereby ordered to look at me with longing and affection in your eyes. You are ordered to touch my arms, my shoulders, my face as needed. You may kiss me lustfully when the situation calls for it. You may _not_ touch any private parts. You may _not _under any circumstance get naked or require me to do so. None of these conditions are to be construed as permission to take any other liberties besides those expressly granted. If you do so, I _will_ retaliate when the time is right. These are your mission parameters. Is that a clear enough line for your male brain?"

Winter stood with her hands on her hips, her face flushed with the ire in her voice. Slowly, a grin blossomed across Wes's face. "That's what I needed to hear." He reached up and tweaked her nose. "Rima." His fingers trailed along her cheek and then reached behind her head to draw her in for a sloppy, full-tongued exploration of her mouth. "You're one hot shuttle pilot babe, you know that?"

Winter laughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "There's the West Jasso I know and love. Save it for _The Cave_ and you'll be just fine." She shook her head at the smirk on Wes's face and smacked him on the shoulder. "And don't get any ideas, flyboy. I mean it!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Wes's eyes blinked rapidly to adjust to the darkness as he stepped inside _The Cave_. It wasn't too different from the adjustment he had to make every time he launched into space in his X-Wing. The darkness was punctuated with specks of light of various intensities and vague bodies that floated around him, presenting obstacles he needed to navigate around or blast out of his way. In this case, the specks of light were the displays of various holosim machines and masks that blinked and scrolled in indistinguishable patterns, reflections of the artificial reality being promulgated inside where only the plugged-in Players could see. The obstacles floating around him were beings here to experience the thrill of adventures they would never experience for real – unlike Wes, who lived these adventures pretty much every day of his life.

"Looking for some play?" The blue-haired human female behind the counter smacked her gum and twirled a jeweled trinket of some sort that hung from her wrist. "Ten credits a play. C'mon in." Her gesture was enticing and the quick motions she made with the trinket revealed a practiced dexterity.

Winter followed Wes up to the counter and clung to his arm possessively. He entwined his fingers in hers but leaned in to the blue-haired woman suggestively. "Hey, sugar," Wes said in his most charming drawl. "I'm looking for Bex. He said he plays here."

The woman glanced back and forth between Wes and Winter and finally jerked her head sideways. "He's in the race venue setting up a swoop race. If you hurry, you might get in on it."

Wes nodded at her and started to leave before she reached out suddenly and restrained him with a cold touch. "Ten credits a play, I said."

Wes grinned and nodded at Winter. "Pay the pretty lady, Rima."

Looking slightly annoyed, Winter flicked a credit chit at her. "That should start an account. Put it in the name of Jasso. West Jasso."

Blue-hair inserted the chit in her compad and quickly raised her eyebrows when she saw the amount. Winter smirked at her knowingly, turning her body towards Wes in an obvious gesture of warning to the girl. Blue-hair just rolled her eyes and shrugged, trying her best to look bored.

Winter hung on Wes' arm and looked adoringly up at him while following him in the direction Blue-hair had indicated, sashaying her hips suggestively, marking her territory in the manner all female creatures understood. If Wes noticed her efforts, he didn't show it. He was busy swaggering in his tight, black leather trousers and equally form-fitting simple black t-shirt under a slick black leather jacket, trying to project his own presence into the dark room, becoming the brash challenger, the self-defined paladin, the cocky and jaunty holosim Player, West Jasso.

Wes let the tension that had been building since he had accepted this assignment seep into the pores of his skin and set his blood stirring, heightening his awareness in the ascent toward the spine-tingling sensation of battle readiness that he craved. It was a slow build. This undercover work didn't have the same punch that going head to head with TIE fighters did, but the knowledge that betrayal and exposure could kill him just as surely and probably a lot more painfully than a laser cannon torqued his awareness just the same.

The 'racing venue' turned out to be a bank of full-sensory holosim machines set up in a semi-circle toward the rear of the main hall. Each machine was a fully enclosed artificial sensory environment that could be programmed to imitate experiences limited only by the imagination. Stepping inside a full-sensory holosim machine was instantaneous portage to altered reality.

Only a helmet, gloves and sometimes boots were required of the Player – all other movements were detected and interpreted by a series of tiny 5q modified med scanners. Originally designed to monitor vital signs and bodily functions in quiet, sterile environments, these specialty sensors had been ingeniously adapted by the now mega corporation MicoArc to read the biometric data generated by the reactions of living beings and feed this data to a VT-130 droid brain that generated the artificial environment.

The VT-130 droid brain then used the helmet to create the visual effects – a 360 degree three dimensional hologram effect that had such clarity and depth it was practically indistinguishable from the real world – and a variety of sensory nodules lining the walls, floor and ceiling to create the feel and sound of the chosen reality. Only the slightest occasional flicker was present to clue the Player that what they were seeing wasn't real. Communication holograms were primitive imitations by comparison. Of course, the contained environment without the annoying distortion of hyperspace transmission and supported by the exclusive application of the processing power of the droid brain had something to do with that.

The gloves and boots functioned as the universal input for the multitude of environments. They could just as easily clutch the controls of a swoop bike as they could squeeze the trigger of a DL-44 blaster or, for that mater, caress the bare skin of a woman – or man, depending on your taste. And the Player would feel and see and hear and even smell it all through the effects generated inside this small self-contained universe called a full-sensory holosim. Even the force of solid objects could be recreated by small bursts of energy and air being rolled, blown, sprayed or blasted out of the many creative nozzles. For special programs, custom seats and mounts could be interchangeably installed inside the holosim machine, providing a physical interface for that reality.

Such was the case for the race Bex was busy brokering. Emerging from the sixth and final holosim machine after setting the swoop bike mount in place, the heavily muscled man grunted in recognition as Wes approached him. "You playing?"

Wes glanced at the other machines that were already occupied. His eyes narrowed as he realized they were mostly youths barely able to shave. "Nah," he said to Bex. "I'm looking for some real play. I thought you said this place was the best?"

Bex pulled himself up to full height, towering almost a foot over Wes and Winter. His lip curled in a sneer. "Don't let them hear you say that," he gestured toward the adolescent occupants of the machines. "They'll rip you a new orifice before you can hop off the bike and run squealing like a little girl."

Wes snorted and jerked his head toward Winter. "My girl could take all of them and she already squeals like a little girl." He leaned forward and leered at the oversized attendant. "Those whelps wouldn't know how to make a girl squeal if she had the instructions imprinted on her ass."

"Tell you what," Bex snickered at Wes's crude joke and sucked at his teeth nonchalantly. "This race is on the house. You beat these ranat whelps and I'll take you on myself." He paused, his eyes lighting up with a malicious gleam. "But you have to take the tricked out Flare. Maximized control sensitivity. Sharpened steering vanes. Customized micro thrusters. A hotshot Player like you should be able to handle it no problem, right?"

Wes turned his head slowly toward Bex and let a feral grin twist his lips. The Flare swoop bike was a favorite on the race circuit because of its sensitive handling, high maneuverability, increased speed and potential for customization. It was the former that usually got brash pilots with more guts than skill killed. Increased speed and maneuverability could be a deadly combination if you over-drove the thing. "Weapons hot?" he asked. Oh, and most Flares had dual blaster cannons mounted on either side of the repulsorlift engine chassis.

"For everybody but you," Bex assured him smugly, daring him to back out.

"I won't need them anyways when I'm out in front," Wes shrugged and handed his jacket to Winter before stepping into the holosim machine. He mounted the seat and capped the helmet over his head. The model included full handlebar controllers and foot pedals but the gloves and boots he wore transmitted his movements to the droid brain in the holosim machine, not the model itself. Inside this machine, it would look and feel like he was really racing a swoop bike.

Just like old times. The laughing face of Dash Rendar framed by the blindingly white terrain of Hoth flashed in Wes's memory as he recalled the last time he had ridden a swoop bike. Dash's visits to the Rebel base had always ended up in a challenge of some sort, usually involving a race. That man had loved the sport. It had been a few years, for sure, but back then he could beat Dash as often as Dash had beaten him. He figured that counted for something, assuming Dash's bragging about the races he had won meant anything. He'd soon find out.

Suddenly, Wes was on the streets of Coruscant, hovering next to several other riders under an arcing walkway that stretched across the deep crevice that constituted a primary thoroughfare on the ecumenopolis. Above and below him, air speeders whizzed by without stopping or reacting in any way. Pedestrians crowded the innumerable walkways surrounding the hundreds of levels below and several dozen above him. It was day time, but artificial light blazed throughout the cityscape, permanently illuminating the depths where the weak rays of the Coruscanti star could not reach.

Wes marveled at the realistic detail employed by the holosim machine. He focused on a particularly lithesome female gliding by on the nearest walkway and discovered he could count the fasteners on her blouse, the resolution was that high. Reluctantly, he raised his eyes a little higher to her face and was pleased to see her expression was quite natural, her hair drifting gently in the imagined breeze. He saw no sign of the haze or distortions so common for holographic communication. The female continued walking, unconcerned and unaware she was a nothing but a projection decorating the amusements of hedonistic thrill-seekers.

Wes turned his attention back to his fellow racers and the path in front of him. Ever vigilant, the creators of this holosim program made sure the sensations would be realistic. He could feel the faint vibration and hear the quiet whine of the idling repulsor engines on the swoop. Quickly he explored the controls of the bike, experimenting as much as possible to imprint their functions on his reflexes, watching the holographic control vanes and thrusters respond. His hand crossed his field of vision and Wes had to remind himself it was just a holographic projection of his real hands, it was that convincing of an image.

Briefly, Wes wondered what it would feel like to crash in this environment. How sensitive was the kill switch? How much force could the simulators create if he were to smash into a wall? Idly he contemplated how much pain his baby-faced competitors would be willing to endure and decided the threshold was probably set very low. _The Cave_ was a functional business, after all. No way would they want to send their customers running home crying to their mommies, never to return.

A holomap popped up in front of his face and a voice sounded tinny in his ear. "Players, mark your routes. Blue line is the start/finish line. Red line is the turn-around point. Players are marked in yellow. First one there and back wins. The only rules are performance deductions for physical contact with other vehicles or pedestrians commensurate with the force of the impact. 30 seconds to go."

Wes studied the holomap in front of him. Holographic controls responded to his gloved motions and zoomed, rotated or plotted directions on his command. The distance between the blue line and the red line was about 5 kilometers; it was a 10 kilometer race, round trip. At the speeds this swoop could generate, the race would take less than 2 minutes in an open field without traffic or other obstacles – such as armed opponents shooting at you.

Wes saw five yellow dots lined up abreast beside him and didn't think for a moment this race would be a clean shot. He fully expected the Players would be out for blood and willing to do anything to knock him out of the race. Why not? Racing dirty had no consequences.

"20 seconds," the tinny voice intoned, continuing the countdown.

The major thoroughfares would be the most obvious route to take between the blue and red lines but Wes knew it wouldn't be that easy. He fully expected those routes to be clogged with traffic. He brought up the traffic overlay and synched it with his clock, unsurprised that the primary routes glowed orange, indicating very slow transit times. He quickly plotted a secondary route, then a third and a fourth.

"10…9…8…" Wes shifted through the controls one last time as he listened to the final countdown. His heart beat with the rhythm but his mind was calm, his muscles relaxed. This was fun but it was nothing to get worked up about. "Mark!"

Wes launched onto the Coruscanti street with a surge of acceleration, surrounded by the other racers. A good start was crucial in a race this short and Wes had anticipated the mark perfectly. He edged ahead of the others and dove into the traffic, carefully avoiding crossing any opponent's direct line of fire.

The traffic was as congested as the overlay had shown. Wes weaved in and out of the airspeeders, air buses and repulsor trucks, never releasing the accelerator. He slipped into the narrow gaps, drawing the ire of the pilots of those vehicles but not relenting an inch. Behind him, Wes heard an explosion as one of the Players spun out of control already and crashed into several other vehicles. A yellow dot flicked off on his display. He dove into the lane below, narrowly missing the large repulsor truck he ducked underneath. The gap closed behind him, leaving his closest opponent struggling to keep up a half length behind him.

The exit to the secondary route he had chosen flashed on the holomap that still displayed in Wes's helmet, not unlike the heads-up display in his X-Wing. He palmed the control to zoom in on the holomap while the traffic overlay was still active and discovered that he could get a real time representation of the individual vehicles within the traffic. Intrigued, Wes maximized the zoom and with an instinctive ease that came with years of practice, he widened his visual perception to take in both the HUD and his normal visual range in front of his swoop bike at the same time. He located himself on the HUD and experimented with maneuvering around a couple airspeeders beside him to verify the accuracy of the holomap representation and calibrate his vision accordingly. Wes let out a chuckle as he realized he could now effectively fly by sensors, giving him advance knowledge of the obstacles and opportunities in the traffic ahead. _Like shooting fatfish in a barrel._

Suddenly Wes's swoop lurched uncontrollably and his senses convulsed as the vehicle in front of him exploded in a burst of flame and a hail of debris. Wes swore and wrestled the controls to bring his swoop back in line with the traffic before he got caught up in the ensuing mayhem. He twisted the control vanes to match the direction of the increasingly unstable line of travel and eased back on the maneuvering flap until the famed stability of the Flare-S swoop bike lived up to its reputation and settled under Wes's expert touch.

Not pausing to figure out which of his opponents had shot at him, Wes checked his HUD for the turn off to his secondary route. _Damn! Missed it!_ Wes knew then that whoever had fired at him had timed it deliberately to disrupt the routing of the race – which meant that someone knew this course well and knew the likely routes Players would choose. It was an advantage he didn't have.

Wes slipped in between an oversized air bus and two large transports, hoping to hide himself from his pursuers and give him time to recalculate. He noticed that two yellow dots lagged considerably behind, effectively out of the race already. That left two others who were keeping close pace with him, paralleling his course through the lanes of traffic. He checked the distance and saw that they were only 2 kilometers out on the first 5 kilometer leg. The course wasn't a straight line, though, and he would have to turn soon to make it to the red line turnaround or else he would overshoot and be forced to double back.

Abruptly Wes twisted his Flare-S to slide in front of the air bus and onto a minor side street. It was a risk as cross-traffic was much more unpredictable on these smaller throughways but it would get him out of the line of fire and allow him to focus on piloting. He climbed a few levels, seeking the lightest flow of traffic and noticed with chagrin that one of his opponents had followed him down this route. He checked the HUD and confirmed the other contending Player had stayed on the main route.

Wes wove through the lighter traffic on the narrower passage, using his traffic overlay to adjust his timing so he could zoom through the numerous cross-traffic intersections without incident. The Player that had followed him stayed with him but made no attempt to shoot or disrupt his chosen route.

Wes rounded the corner at the designated distance that the HUD indicated was the red turnaround point and started the final leg back to the blue finish line. The Player that had followed him and the Player that had stayed on the main thoroughfare converged on him now, the three of them once again flying side by side. It was a closer race than he had expected and he knew he would have to do something extra if he wanted to win under these conditions and impress Bex enough to introduce him to Chant.

The thought of Chant caused him to take a closer look at the holomap that was guiding this race. He had to admit the traffic overlay was a brilliant idea, giving a realism to the race that he hadn't known holosims possessed. He wondered then just how real-time this sim was and whether it was possible that the traffic overlay was reflecting actual vehicles currently darting about on Coruscant. Most likely it was a recording or even completely artificially fabricated, but if it wasn't…

Wes grimaced as he realized the momentary distraction had allowed one Player to nose out in front of him. The other swoop hovered two lanes below him and slightly to port. The traffic was moving faster than it had earlier, giving Wes room to get a run on them. He engaged his turbothrust then darted suddenly in front of a large transport. The transport jerked to port at the unexpected maneuver, undoubtedly trying to avoid a collision. Unfortunately for the driver, he only succeeded in sideswiping the vehicle in the lane beside him, which pushed that vehicle down. It was a chain reaction that culminated in the tagging of Wes's opponent's swoop in the rear thrusters, an action that would have been catastrophic to a less experienced pilot but only inconvenienced this guy.

Wes shook his head, realizing he had probably underestimated these ranat pup whelps. No matter. He was just getting started.

A blast of energy flashed by him and sliced through a small airspeeder to his portside. It veered off, causing jostling and collisions in the traffic lanes behind him, but this time there was no explosion. The Player that had fired the shot broke to starboard, avoiding the bottleneck he had created.

Wes had now regained his lead and was less than a kilometer from the blue finish line. Another shot sizzled past, this one from the Player Wes had caught in his sideswipe maneuver. The crossfire gave Wes an idea.

He chose his lane carefully, finding the path that put him squarely between the two other Players. Neither could now fire on him without taking out the other as well. That would matter if the two cared about the other, but this was an everybody-for-himself race. Wes was hoping the other two Players couldn't resist the opportunity to take out both opponents with one shot.

He didn't have to wait long. The Player that had taken the first shot at Wes was slowly losing ground to the other two. Wes watched his position carefully on the HUD, maneuvering to keep himself between the two. Anticipating the salvo with split second precision, Wes kicked his turbothrust and twisted the steering vanes at the exact moment the third place Player fired. The shot was a direct hit on the first place Player, causing him to spin uncontrollably and lurch sickeningly across several lanes of traffic. Wes used the tumult the crash caused in the traffic flow to create even more agitation in the stream of vehicles, slicing in between lanes near the firing Player, herding the traffic like they were nerfs directly into the path of the firing Player, effectively blocking that Player and giving Wes the clear victory as he crossed the blue finish line several lengths ahead.

Abruptly Coruscant was gone and Wes was back in the holosim machine taking his helmet off and dismounting the swoop model seat. He stepped out of the machine and was jumped by a giggling, cooing girl who pressed her body against his and gave him a big kiss. "You won!" Rima exclaimed with pride, obviously dazzled by his prowess. "That is so hot!"

Wes grinned at Winter's affected exuberance and slid his hand around her waist. "Nothing to it, babe."

"You idiot!" A high-pitched voice shrilled from one of the other holosim machines. A baby-faced adolescent male was wailing at the oversized Bex, his pointed hands poking him in the chest and shoulders. The very angry baby-faced adolescent male's outburst was being surprisingly well tolerated by the placid muscle-bound attendant without even a twitch of return ire. "I had that race! What did you go and do that for?"

"Yes, boss," Bex mumbled equinanimously. "Sorry, boss."

"Sorry my ass!" the baby-faced adolescent shrieked, his pique not mollified in the slightest. "You ruined my race!"

Bex sighed, his patience taking on an aspect of long-suffering tolerance. "Just trying to win, boss. Same as you."

Wes and Winter exchanged a glance and Winter gave a barely discernable nod. If Bex was calling him 'boss' then this had to be their contact, Chant.

Wes moved in toward the crowd that had now gathered around the pair of men. Three other baby-faced adolescent males and two fully endowed females hovered around the angry baby-face's elbows, including the blue-haired female from the front counter. One of the females began to pet baby-face's shoulders and arms, leaning her body into his as she turned and scowled at Bex, too. "You deserved to win," she pouted for him. "You were the fastest there. I saw it. The other guy tricked Bex and he fell for it."

"That other guy would be me." Wes inserted himself into the middle of the crowd. "I was just playing to win, too." He lifted his chin challengingly as he locked eyes with baby-face. "And I did."

Baby-face's eyes narrowed as he gave Wes an appraising look. The anger evaporated and in its place a cold look settled, wary and scheming at the same time. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Wes stuck out his hand. "West Jasso. Who are you?"

The man ignored Wes' offered hand "You a new Player?"

Wes dropped his hand nonchalantly. "Around here, yes.

Chant's eyes shifted to linger on Winter, who hung possessively on Wes's arm, making sure her posture drew everyone's watching eyes to her cleavage so her own eyes could unobtrusively observe them in return.

A mask of forced friendliness common to shopkeepers everywhere fell over Chant's face. "Well, then, welcome to _The Cave_." His eyes didn't leave Winter's cleavage as he spoke. "We have the best holosims on Imperial Center by far. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself."

He turned to leave, dismissing Wes without looking at him again.

"Not if that race was the best you got." Wes sneered forcefully. "Haven't you got anything more challenging? Like maybe some snubfighters? And someone who knows how to fly them?"

Chant stopped mid stride and jerked his head around to stare at Wes. "You fly?"

"He can show you a thing or two," Winter taunted saucily as she twirled her hair with her fingers. "Bet you can't beat him in a snubfighter, neither."

Wes snickered at Winter's jab and draped his arm affectionately around her shoulder, allowing his hand to hang down in front possessively. He leaned in suggestively and tweaked her chin before looking back at Chant sideways. "Now, Rima, let's hope the young man is just holding back, waiting for the right Player to come along and show them all how it's done, eh?" Wes wiggled his eyebrows at Chant. "Would you like some lessons, little boy?"

Chant's face twitched as he clenched his jaw and his lip curled in a sneer. Suddenly he snorted and turned on his heel, shaking his head. "Bex," he called back over his shoulder. "Explain to this guy the way things are done around here." He grabbed one of the girls in a possessive squeeze, growling at blue-hair to get back to the counter, and shook his head as he left, muttering about how he had to put up with every new Player thinking they were the kriffing Emperor reborn.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Wes slammed the door to their apartment but held his frustrated complaints until Winter completed her customary scan for listening devices and gave the all clear. This cloak and dagger stuff was harder than he thought it would be. He much preferred the look-'em-in-the-eyes-and-and-shoot-'em approach.

"Relax," Winter said at the completion of her scan. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

Wes followed her into her room as she busied herself with her scanners. "I thought he wanted to go head to head in snubfighters. He sure didn't seem like it to me. I didn't get near him again all night. Think I already scared him away?"

"I'm pretty sure he knows who we are," Winter said thoughtfully as she arranged some equipment on a utility belt she was holding. "He should have responded to the challenge immediately."

"How am I supposed to beat him if he won't play?" Wes ran his fingers through his dark hair and stretched the muscles at the back of his neck. "Think I should have pushed it harder?"

Winter made a most unladylike snort. "I think if we had pushed any harder we might not have made it out of there alive! Did you notice that Chant is Imaran? When you called him a little boy I thought he was going to jump you right there!"

Wes chuckled. He had noticed, of course. Imaran's were a near-human species that often were confused for adolescent humans. While their outward appearance was nearly identical to humans, their inward physiology was radically different – most notably in their aging process and muscular strength. Adult Imarans never progressed past the appearance of adolescence, their age instead being exhibited in dark spots that mottled their torsos and extremities. The few spots Wes had noticed around the collar of Chants shirt were sufficient to conclude Chant was probably much older than Wes was. And while the Imaran's were rumored to have the strength of three humans, Wes hadn't been worried about that. He had trained with Wookies, after all. An Imaran was small time. Especially this Imaran.

"I'm not getting the feeling that Chant is particularly prominent in the Coruscant underworld hierarchy," Wes remarked dryly.

"He's not," Winter said mildly. "That's what makes him ideal for our needs. But don't let that fool you. Sometimes the small-time players are the most vicious and you know better than I that it only takes one lucky shot to ruin your day."

Wes finally noticed that Winter had been methodically organizing her many electronic tools and arranging them on a wide utility belt. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going out tonight."

"What do you mean?" Wes asked warily.

"If I can get into Chant's mapping database we don't need to worry about the challenge." Winter explained.

"You're going to break in?" Wes asked in surprise. "At _The Cave_?"

"I'll probably just do re-con tonight since I don't know where his office is, but yes, if the opportunity arises, I will go ahead and take it."

Wes jumped up and bounced on the balls of his feet. "Good. I could use some action." Holosims were turning out to be a poor substitute for the rush of the real thing.

Winter's eyes narrowed. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What?" Wes said in confusion.

"You're not trained for intrusion." Winter pointed out.

"Oh, come on!" Wes exploded in dismay. "You can't just ask me to sit at home while you go have all the fun. I may be a cross-jockey, but I also had all the basic military training. I guarantee my hand-to-hand is better than yours, plus you know I'm expert qualified on just about every weapon the Alliance has."

"Yes, I know," Winter agreed patiently. "You're very good when a full frontal assault is called for. But intrusion is a whole other set of skills. Smashing in faces and blasting targets into smithereens is usually the opposite of what we want."

"I know how to tip-toe," Wes said pointedly.

Winter somehow managed to roll her eyes without deigning to move her eyeballs at all.

"Look," Wes said hurriedly. "You're going to need someone to watch your back. If you get in trouble, you're going to want someone who can smash in faces and blast targets to smithereens. I promise I won't do that unless you tell me to."

"Well…" Winter hesitated.

"I'll do everything you say," Wes promised in his best coaxing tone. "Without question. I'll just be your shadow. C'mon, Winter, what do you say?"

"Everything?" Winter asked. "From now on?"

"Sure," Wes assured her. "Everything."

"Ok," Winter shrugged and gestured to a second belt that was already prepared on the side. "There's your belt."

Wes looked at the fully prepped belt, opening and closing his mouth in silence because he knew he had flown right into that trap with all the grace and eagerness of a mynock chasing moonbeams.

--ooOoo--

The stealthy approach was a bust. They managed to locate Chant's office that night but were not able to approach it unobserved. Even in the wee hours of the morning it was well guarded and surrounded by activity, for in the lower levels of the Coruscant undercity where it was always night, biological rhythms tied to the wanderings of the sun had no meaning. Humans and non-humans alike heeded their own atavistic calls to sleep as randomly as the out of sync flickering of the millions of neon signs everywhere you looked. It made tip-toeing quite superfluous.

So they were forced to return to _The Cave_ again and again the same way everyone else did – through the front door. They spent just enough time with Pahkli Cab Service to make their cover credible and the rest was spent either inside _The Cave_ playing or outside _The Cave_ surveilling. They even took turns sleeping as Winter insisted on around-the-clock coverage of the comings and goings at _The Cave_.

Gradually, courtesy of random visits and constant electronic surveillance, Winter discovered the identities and patterns of the key Players. There was a crowd of several dozen top-rated Players, but only a handful seemed to hover around Chant. For all the appearance of an insular lifestyle, most Players were students or professionals or bureaucrats of some kind. For them, it was a diversionary hobby.

For others, like Bex and Blue-hair – also known as Chiz, Winter discovered – it was their life. These were the key players that Winter focused on, building a dossier and developing a profile. She charted their comings and goings; she researched their lives as contained in the Imperial databases; she observed their relationships and alliances – all in an effort to find a way in to Chant.

It didn't appear that Chant had a 'right-hand man', per se. When he made his frequent visits to the holosims, he always had a gaggle of hangers-on around him. The faces varied, a constant shifting of favor and influence. Chant may not have been high in the underworld hierarchy, but he knew how to play the power structure game in his own little playground. It turned out Chant not only owned _The Cave_ but also the nightclub next to it, the café across the street, and several other establishments on this one small street buried in the heart of Coruscant. He was a big fish in a small pond and by all appearances, he planned on keeping it that way.

Eventually, Winter decided it came down to Bex.

Bex's towering, pug-nosed face was always there. It glowed in the blue and green lights of the holosim machines as he supervised race after race. It leered in the darkness at Winter's lithesome form as she circulated among the other Players, integrating easily into this world and becoming part of it. It grinned ferally when Wes allowed him to win a time or two just so he wouldn't give up and abandon their growing camaraderie.

Bex was their key to Chant. He managed _The Cave_; Chant owned _The Cave_. Chant was not always around when Bex was, but whenever Chant was there, Bex was there.

So Wes attached himself to Bex and became his new best friend. It wasn't hard, really. Wes' reputation as a Player had quickly outstripped Bex's as he challenged and beat just about every other Player that frequented _The Cave_, pointedly including all the top-rated Players. Chant might ignore a newcomer, but he couldn't ignore someone who sat atop the Player Elite rankings, especially one who mocked Chant's supposed dominance every chance he got.

Wes was an instant sensation among the Players who respected skill above all else, Bex most of all. For all his menacing looks and scowls, he was an excellent manager, knowing instinctively that a superstar was good for business. It created fans and rivals, motivating both to spend more on holosims to improve their skills in order to either emulate their beloved hero or triumph over their hated archenemy, as the case may be.

Wes played his role well. He played holosim after holosim, racing pods and swoops and solar sails; engaging in space combat with snubfighters and transports and corvettes; even conducting ground assault scenarios with AT-ATs and hovertanks and assault blasters – all the while swaggering with loud braggadocio and arrogance. Wes loved it. The sly intrigue and clever deceit of the enemy was fun. Outsmarting the bad guys had always been a favorite past time of his and playing the part of the self-important bigmouth was like eating sweet rhys cake topped with pure whipped cream. Delicious!

But it didn't take long for the _safeness_ of the holosims to get tedious and the ignorance of the pampered Players to get irritating. It didn't help that not a single holosim scenario allowed combat _against_ Imperial weapons or forces - only combat _with_ Imperial weapons or forces against the so-called forces of chaos and destabilization. Imperial regulations, Bex claimed when Wes complained about that. And while Bex wasn't exactly a good guy, he wasn't exactly Darth Vader either. Other than Chant holding out on them, this mission was starting to get boring. Besides, Wes missed shooting things. Real things, not simulated holographic images of real things. It really was a poor substitute.

Wes removed the holosim helmet and stepped out of the large holosim module where he had just tried to work out his frustrations in a tag teamed ground assault with Bex against an entire battalion of a rebellious alien world. They had won and it hadn't even been hard.

"That was stupid," Wes spat as Bex stepped out beside him. "I'm getting really tired of these wussy holosims. That was child's play! Literally! Real ­­­rebels would never fight like that. They had no tactics and no cohesion whatsoever. You'd think they had no brains at all. Can't you turn up the difficulty level or something?"

Bex watched him mildly with a slight smile on his fleshy lips. "The Empire regulates the military scenarios," he said. "The Rebels are always stupid and the Empire always wins."

Wes made a disgusted sound and searched the room for Winter. He found her talking to Chiz at the front counter as if they were now best buddies. They probably were. Winter could do that. Her ability to play any character and become whatever was necessary for mission was downright scary. He wished he had her patience and flexibility. Wes headed over to join her as Bex trailed behind him.

"Ask Bex," Chiz was saying enthusiastically when they arrived, her eyes casually lingering on Wes. "I'm sure they won't mind."

"Ask me what?" the big man rumbled at her.

"The party," she said smugly, her eyes prompting Bex with a hint of suggestion. "They can come, can't they?"

Bex's forehead instantly creased in a frown and he opened his mouth to speak, but Chiz continued talking as if she hadn't noticed.

"It's a Player's party, you see," she explained conspiratorially to Winter. "You have to be willing to Play." She looked sideways at Wes and then up at Bex, something shining in her eyes. "Rima was just telling me how much she likes Playing." Bex followed her eyes to Rima, who smiled at him encouragingly.

Bex's mouth snapped shut and his eyes narrowed as he regarded Rima hungrily. "Sure, Chiz, they can come," he said finally with a wolfish smile. "Treats are provided but you're always welcome to bring your own." He spoke to Wes who stood at his side, but his eyes never left Winter.

Wes hesitated, caught off-guard by the unexpected undertone. He didn't think he liked where this was going, but Winter continued her encouraging smile at Bex and she turned to whisper something in Chiz's ear, causing them both to snicker prettily.

"Excuse us," Wes snapped as he grabbed Winter's arm and pulled her away from Bex and Chiz so they could talk privately. He wasn't worried about their cover. He had been playing possessive with Winter the whole time and he was counting on Bex and Chiz thinking he was uncomfortable sharing Winter. Which was partially true. "You do understand what they are saying, don't you?" he whispered lowly in her ear. "I think Bex has a thing for you."

"Relax," she whispered, turning her body into his. "Chant will be there. It's the only way." She pushed off gently from his chest and reached up to caress his cheek. "C'mon, baby," she said loudly enough for the avid ears of Bex and Chiz to hear. "You promised you'd do everything I asked. Everything." She emphasized her point with a slow lick of his jaw line, finishing with a deliberate probe of his mouth. Wes made a show of surrendering to her seduction for a moment, but then he brought his hand up and grabbed the back of her head by her hair to pull her forcibly away from him. "Fine, but you're going home with me, got it?" he asked savagely, piercing both her and Bex with an intense stare.

"Of course," Winter replied huskily while Bex and Chiz started to laugh. Bex shook his head and turned to go.

"2200," he threw over his shoulder as he walked away laughing. "In the back room."

Winter threw Chiz a quick goodbye as Wes pulled her to him possessively and headed for the door. As usual, they waited until they were back in the apartment and Winter had checked all the scanners before talking.

"This is nuts." Wes exhaled loudly. "We should just demand to speak to Chant in private and barge our way in if they stop us. This party is a bad idea."

"I've tried that," Winter said patiently. "Several times," she added at Wes's look of surprise.

Wes scowled at her stubbornly. "I know you're in charge but you should keep me in the loop. You asked me to be part of this mission. Shouldn't I be helping you plan or something? Keeping you from making stupid mistakes like this?"

"Ad libbing is a major part of intelligence work," Winter replied mildly. "I just learned about the party at that moment and I saw the opportunity so I took it. Seems I saw someone do the same thing recently." She patted him on the arm significantly as she walked by him and reached for her bag. "Unfortunately, now we have a problem."

"Well, duh," Wes muttered as he watched curiously while she rummaged around in her bag. "Bex is going to have his hands all over you. What are you going to do then?"

Winter didn't answer right away but instead pulled out a med kit and opened it to reveal several small black vials lined up in small elastic pockets on one side of the canister and a stack of round patches made of a fine, plastifab material tucked in a wide, clear pocket on the other. "I can handle Bex. I'm more worried about you."

"Me?" Wes blanched as he looked at the paraphernalia arrayed before him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Winter nodded as she gazed at him impassively. "Spice," she said matter-of-factly. "Highest grade glitterstim. Tell me the truth. Have you ever tried it?"

Wes' eyebrows knitted in disdain. "Of course not."

"You have to now."

Wes recoiled in shock, his usual loquaciousness frozen in his throat. "Say again?" he managed to choke out.

"This is part of your cover," Winter explained patiently, watching his reaction intently. "I'm sorry we have to do it this way, but the spice will undoubtedly be flowing freely at this party and they will expect you to participate. They will get quite suspicious if you don't."

Wes continued to stare at the small black vial Winter pinched between her thumb and index finger. "This is a joke, right?" he said, letting out a short, nervous bark of laughter. "Wedge put you up to this right? You're going to go back and tell the Rogue's all about how you got old Janson all worked up over a little Spice, right?"

Winter shook her head mutely, waiting for Wes to accept the necessity of it.

The color in Wes's face drained and he swallowed hard. "I… I thought I was just going to fake it. I mean, I've seen enough glit-biters to know how they act when they're on spice. I can fake that."

"Can you fake the pinpoint pupil contraction at the moment of absorption into the bloodstream? Can you fake the increased reflexes and heightened sensory perceptions? Besides, they'll be watching. Any slight of hand will be noticed."

Wes shook his head helplessly and groaned in despair. "I don't think I can do this. It will ruin me! Spice attacks the nerves and brain tissues. Even the slightest damage can be enough to slow my reflexes and reaction time and keep me from flying an X-Wing in combat ever again. You're not really going to ask me to sacrifice that, are you Winter? Does General Cracken really want to lose one of his best pilots like this?"

"He's not. That's why we picked you." Winter deadpanned, but she could only hold it for a few moments before she succumbed to the stricken look on Wes's face.

"_That_ I'm going to tell Wedge about," she said with a teasing smile and a softly conciliatory hand on his arm. "Of course neither General Cracken nor I would ever ask you to risk nerve or brain damage. That's what these are for." Winter pulled one of the small circles of plastifab from the medkit in front of them. "Hold out your arm."

Wes grabbed his arms across his chest protectively. "Why?" he asked dubiously.

"It's a combination of a synaptic regulator and myelinic balm." Winter explained patiently. "It releases compounds that bind to the ­­neurons in your brain and also reinforces the myelin protecting your nerves. This prevents your brain chemistry from being overwhelmed by the glitterstim and protects your nerves from damage. You will still feel the psychotropic effects and you will have to guard against a psychological dependence, but given the short duration and your obvious attitude against them, I don't think you will have a problem."

"You don't think?" Wes almost squeaked in a panic. "No, no, no, no, no. The only drugs I need are my own natural adrenaline and testosterone. I like those very much. Everything else is off limits to this body."

Winter lowered her head and peered at him calmly. "Lomin ale. Correllian whisky. Lum, even Alderaanian wine will harm your body more than spice will with this patch. You put those in your body all the time, don't you?"

"Oh, come on!" Wes sputtered. "You can't compare them."

"Chemically, medically, yes I can." The muscle in Winter's jaw clenched but her eyes softened in sympathy at the adjustment he was making. She saw now it was a mistake to not prepare him for this but she had honestly thought it wouldn't get this far.

Winter's hand reached up to cradle his chin and force him to look at her. "Wes, listen to me. _This_ is your mission. Chant will be at this party and we have to be, too. This might be our only chance to meet his terms of the deal. I promise you'll be safe. You must do this."

Wes flinched and pulled away from her touch, still silently accusing her. Her return look was sympathetic but unyielding, giving him no quarter and demanding that he choose right now. Never had the white of her hair looked so icy or the angular lines of her face seemed so sharp. She was a brilliant cut diamond sparkling fierce and cold in front of him, reminding him with laser clarity of his duty and his oath. He put his life on the line every time he flew out in his X-Wing and he did it without a second thought because that was fun; that was easy for him. He loved the rush and he loved the danger. But drugs… drugs were different, insidious. _They made you weak and they sapped your very soul, leaving nothing but an empty husk enslaved to the whims of whoever held the spice_. It wasn't the same thing as lomin ale at all, no matter what she said.

Winter's face softened as she watched Wes' expression shadow from shock to fear to revulsion. Her grip on his arm changed from demanding to something more entreating and consoling. "Trust me," she said earnestly. "I've never lied to you. It won't harm you. You might even enjoy it, knowing you."

The muscles in Wes's jaw contracted with the clenching of his teeth, the sound of their grinding audible in the still room. He held Winter's eyes for a long moment further, his dark eyes sharp and deadly. "Of course I'll enjoy it," he finally muttered and raised his sleeve, exposing the veins that popped against his tense muscles. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

Swiftly Winter attached the small patch without comment and watched it dissolve into his bloodstream. Wes let out a deep huff of breath and sat down heavily.

"Now comes the hard part," Winter said. She pulled one of the black vials from the med pouch and held it out to him. "You have to be familiar with its effects. You really don't want your first experience to be in front of the enemy."

Wordlessly, Wes stared at her, his square jaw etched in stone. He knew how it worked of course. All he had to do was open the vial and expose it to light. When the fibrous drug sparked blue, it was ready to ingest.

Suddenly, his face transformed. The clenched muscles relaxed as his jaw jutted forward, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a grimace trying to be a cocky grin. "Sithspit, darlin'," he drawled, his eyes flashing resolutely as he took the vial from Winter with exaggerated nonchalance. "A brain damaged Wes Janson can still fly circles around every blockheaded TIE pilot the Empire has to throw at me." He opened the vial, watched it spark blue and lifted the small container to his lips. With a jaunty salute to Winter, he threw his head back to swallow the glitterstim. Only the slightest tremor of his hand betrayed the nervous fear coursing through his body.

The blast was immediate. The light in the room snapped into focus as if it had been blurry and indistinct until now. He had the feeling he was just now seeing the room for the first time as it really was, having previously been cloaked in a haze of mundane apathy. His pulse pounded loudly in his ears and he could feel his blood circulating throughout his body, pumping his muscles with strength and electrifying his senses.

He understood suddenly. He understood it all. She had been right, of course. It was necessary for the mission. There was no way he could have faked this for this was an entirely different world he was seeing, one he hadn't known existed. He knew he was better now, sharper then he had ever been. That was good. He could still contribute. He would be able to help her now because now he was better and sharper and… and _better._

Winter watched Wes's eyes goes wide as the glitterstim hit his bloodstream. She saw his pupils contract to pinpoints as they darted sharply around the room, taking in this new world he had discovered. She knew what he was feeling. She had been through this experience herself. It was part of her training. She wished they had been able to do this in a clinical setting before the mission but there had been no time. Not for the first time she was filled with admiration at the guts and determination of a Rogue Squadron pilot.

Experimentally, Winter brought her right hand up abruptly to cuff him on the side of the head as he looked the other way. She didn't even make it past her shoulder before he had her wrist held tight in a vise grip, looking at her suspiciously. "What did you do that for?"

She smiled a dazzling smile, full of effulgent white light and brilliantly shining crystal. "Just checking your reaction time."

And he knew it was true because he saw it in her mind. "You think this is funny." It was a statement, not a question because he saw that in her mind as well.

She laughed, the sound of the purest metal chimes tinkering in the warm spring breeze. "I think it's kriffing hilarious that Wes Janson turned out to be a big prude. First he wouldn't touch me then he wouldn't touch the spice. Straight as an arrow, he is. Who would have guessed?" Her mouth twitched ever so slightly as she teased him but he saw the movement clearly, as well as the crinkling at the corners of her eyes. Funny he had never noticed that before. It was as obvious to him now as the sun. He also saw something else and he grinned a slow, wicked smile.

"But you like it, don't you?" He leaned toward her and captured her with a gentle grasp on the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the nape of her hair. "You like me, don't you?" He grinned ferally at her shocked look and traced the line of her forehead with the index finger of his other hand, down the bridge of her nose and over the softness of her lips. "You think I'm brave and noble and… and studly!" Wes's voice filled with wonder and his face reflected scandalized shock. "Is studly even a word?" he wondered idly.

Winter pursed her lips, prepared to blast him, but he silenced her by squeezing her lips together with his fingers until she looked like a dehydrated Gungan toad.

"You think Wedge is, too." Wes continued smoothly. "In fact, you think this of all the Rogue Squadron pilots. Oh, Dame Winter, I am so telling Tycho about your secret admiration for me and Wedge and oh, gods, even Hobbie? Hobbie?" Wes released her lips and shook his head sadly while making a tsking sound with his tongue. "How will Tycho ever be able to compete with that?"

Winter's shoulders shook helplessly from laughter as she brushed his hand away from her face. "Tycho competes just fine, thank you very much, and I am so going to get you for that!" She stood with her arms crossed, her shoulders still shaking, trying to compose herself as Wes just nodded and moved off to examine the street life outside the window. Even in the dark he could see all the colors in vibrant rainbow and every tiny movement in slow motion as people hurried by, oblivious to this new and exciting world Wes had found. Fascinating.

"Tell me what number I'm thinking of," Winter quizzed, wanting to confirm her suspicion.

"12."

"Color?"

"Orange."

"Planet?"

"Tatooine."

"Person?"

"Leia."

"Food?"

"Lemosian Eels. Yuck." Wes made a face to let her know what he thought of her culinary choices.

"This is actually good news," Winter remarked conversationally. She knew she didn't need to raise her voice even though he had moved across the room. He would be able to hear her. "Not everyone gets the telepathic boost. Very few, actually, despite the hype to the contrary. This could really come in handy."

"Piece of cake." Wes replied. "Make that ryshcate. With lots of syrup drizzled all over and around it so I can sop it up. Now that's a food to be thinking of! Oh, and maybe some Rekelian nubberries sprinkled on top." He whirled on his heel and started pacing, looking suddenly sad. "Uh-oh. Corellia and Rekela have never gotten along too well. Do you think they'd shoot me if I mixed the two?" He stopped suddenly in mid-step, his hand reaching for a blaster that wasn't there. "Can I shoot back, Winter?" he asked breathlessly. "For real, I mean? Do you think this party will finally give me something _real_ to shoot at? That would make it worth it, you know. I'll forgive you everything if you let me shoot something real. C'mon, whadd'ya say?" He crooked his arm around her neck companionably and drew her in for a hug. "Please? Pretty please?"

Winter chuckled despite herself. "Slow down, big guy," she said, patting him on the forearm. "Your synapses are firing a parsec a nanosecond. I need you to focus. The glitterstim will wear off shortly. The doses never last long. You need to be coherent even on the drug. Now recite the First Level Rules of Engagement for me."

Wes groaned and pushed her away. "You're such a bucket of cold water. Oh!" He stopped suddenly, his eyes wide as he stared at her in surprise. Her expression had not changed a fraction, nor did her eyes reveal anything she was feeling, but he knew. He knew. "She doesn't like being called cold. Dame Winter has fire under that ice after all!" He grinned laconically at her as he lowered his head mockingly. "Tsk! Tsk! Does Tycho know you have such a temper?"

"Tycho knows everything about me," Winter said tightly. "And you need to stay out of my mind, or…"

"Or what?" Wes interrupted with a laugh. "You already dragged me into this boring as hell mission and drugged me up against my better judgment. What else are you going to do? "

"Oh." Wes's brow furled as he stared at Winter in horror. "Oh! Stop that. Stop that now!" He stood up and grabbed her shoulders roughly. "Think about something else, please! Ok, I'll do whatever you say. Just please!" Wes had dropped to his knees, a supplicant begging at his master's feet. "Please stop thinking about Tycho naked!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

They walked arm in arm into _The Cave_. None of the faces he had become familiar with over the last two weeks greeted him. Chiz wasn't behind the counter and Bex wasn't leaning over one of the machines, preparing it for a sim. It was a crowded night but the faces were all casual thrill-seekers, out for a good time on their non-work days. None of the regulars – the real Players – were here because they were all in the back room at the party.

Wes and Winter pushed their way through the crowded main arena and made their way to the back. The door opened into a hallway that reverberated with the heavy sounds of the dance music from the Bith nightclub. One of Chant's muscle men stood at the second door on the left, guarding the entrance to the party. At the mention of Bex's name, he stepped aside reluctantly and allowed them to enter. They were immediately jumped on by a very provocatively dressed Chiz, who inserted herself in-between Wes and Winter, draping one arm over each.

"You made it," she breathed huskily, her eyes dilated widely in the hazy room. "Come on in."

The room was larger than Wes had expected, amounting to a luxury private lounge suite, no doubt used exclusively for Chant's pleasure. A bar lined the full length of one wall staffed by three separate bartenders. Casual lounge chairs, chaises and couches were arranged throughout the rest of the space into various size groupings, while in between were three separate empty spaces, apparently intended as dance floors. On the far wall, Wes recognized a bank of six deluxe holosim machines.

The sound of the dance club next door was drowned out by the throbbing sound system in the dim, hazy room. It was a harsh, driving music, full of wild energy and feverish urgency that set Wes' blood roiling and did nothing to relax the tension he felt building inside.

Winter quickly detached herself from Wes and followed Chiz to a group of females in the corner. They laughed loudly as Winter gestured at Wes.

Bex appeared at Wes's shoulder and welcomed him with a negligent nod of his massive head. "Rima's looking hot tonight," Bex observed, his eyes raking up and down her body before taking in Wes's scowling face. "You look like you need a drink," he laughed.

"I need something before I jump out of my damn skin, that's for sure," Wes growled.

"You need some distraction," Bex advised him. "What will it be? Wine, women or song?"

"What I need is to shoot something." Wes let his frustration show.

"Here," Bex pulled him to the side bar and unlocked a shelf in the back. He pulled out three black vials and placed them on the bar in front of Wes. "What's your pleasure? Glitterstim to make you king of the world? Glitteryll to forget your troubles? Or highly refined Andris spice to maximize your sensory pleasure?"

Wes made a show of looking at each in turn, then looked at Bex sideways. "You're sharing this freely?"

"I am if you are," Bex replied amiably, his beady eyes glancing at Rima meaningfully.

Wes reflexively started to run interference for Winter and considered using her as an excuse to avoid the spice, but then he remembered in just the nick of time that Winter had set things up this way. She would be pissed if he did anything out of character and Force knew he didn't want that. He considered what she would do in this situation.

"Bah!" Wes fumed in frustration. "She won't have it any other way." He took the glitterstim and made a show of ingesting it. The blast hit him again with the ferocity of a sudden dawn after a long, dreary night. "But I still want to shoot something," he said as soon as he could speak. "And not a pansy assed Rebel scenario, either. I want real targets who can shoot straight and make me have to work more than my pinky finger to kill them. Damn! If I just had my snubfighter, I'd take out the whole lot of you wannabe's and show you how it's done."

Bex's eyes narrowed. "_Your_ snubfighter? You mean a real one?"

"Hell, yes, a real one!" Wes boasted. "Not this stupid fake I-can't-get-hurt holosim. A real life Z-95 Headhunter. The best damn snubfighter ever made, I don't care what anyone says. Even those damn TIEs can't compete. I've lost count of how many I've taken out." He was sounding slightly drunk now, an effect he knew Bex was noticing because he could see it in his mind.

"You mean you're a real pilot?" Chiz's lilting soprano piped as she suddenly appeared beside Wes, her voice full of awe and her hands hesitantly touching his shoulders. "With real kills?"

"What the hell are you doing in a place like this?" Bex growled at Wes with a scowl at Chiz.

Wes held up the vial of glitterstim. "My employer didn't appreciate my little blue friend," he said vapidly. "Screw them. I may not have a ship any more but I can still out-fly and out-shoot anyone who gets in my way. That includes _you_, Bex." He emphasized his point by poking Bex in the chest savagely and scowling again. He knew both Bex and Chiz were buying his cover story. He saw it in their minds. "I'm going to say it one more time. I." _Poke._ "Want." _Poke._ "To." _Poke._ "Shoot." _Poke. _"Something." _Poke. Poke._

Chiz let out a low, husky chuckle and slowly, Bex grinned. "Sure thing, Jasso. I think I've got just what you want." Suddenly Bex leaped from behind the bar and gave a loud whistle to the crowd in the room as he walked across the open space to the machines on the far wall.

"We have our first challenge!" he announced loudly. "Jasso here wants a head to head dogfight in starfighters. He's got the Headhunter. Who wants the TIE?"

A crowd of voices responded eagerly, several of them stepping forward to accept the challenge first. Bex signaled a Player forward and motioned him into the holosim machine.

"You've been holding out on me." Wes regarded Bex balefully, recalling what he said about Imperial restrictions.

"So have you," Bex agreed. "Now we'll see what you've really got. You up for it?"

"Hell, yeah," said Wes as he hopped into the holosim. It was nothing like the simulators he trained in. Training simulators were a complete physical replica of the cockpit of whatever machine he was flying, be it an X-Wing or a Headhunter or a TIE. The holosim was just a seat with a joystick, a helmet and some gloves. It would do.

Wes took the time to scan the room before putting on his helmet. He counted about 70 people in the room, all crowded around to watch his battle. They all held identical gleams of eagerness in their eyes mixed with jealousy in some cases and competitive contempt in others. All of them thought they could beat him, he noted.

His eyes rested on Winter and Chiz standing beside her. Even Chiz, who was a top-rated Player herself, held a dark, eager look on her face as she watched the challenge unfold. _A real pilot! I bet Coophé will let me keep this assignment if I give him Jasso. It'll be a cinch to convince him a fully trained pilot with real combat experience is better than an Imperial Academy drop-out, no matter what her aptitude for TIEs was. Let Jasso deal with the DT's. I can keep the Play and the spice._

Wes held his face expressionless with difficulty and looked at Winter, who stood next to Chiz with appropriate girlish excitement at the contest, unaware of Chiz's thoughts. The adrenaline spiked as what had up until now been only the customary ambient peril of spies and exposure morphed into a solid threat in front of him. This was more familiar territory for him. Now he had a target and he wasn't averse to aiming and firing.

The adrenaline mingled with the spice, creating a devastatingly diversionary ecstasy he had never experienced before. It was so delicious and potent as to be almost painful. It was better than sex; better than the rush of combat. It was those things and more. It was heaven itself. Wes found himself understanding exactly why West Jasso would have indulged in glitterstim while he flew and some small part of him started to cry out for more. _You're doing great._ Winter thought at him, urging him forward. _Keep it up. Try to get to Chant._

Wes shoved the helmet on his head and sat down in the chair, grabbing the joystick tightly. Impatiently, he waited for the usual countdown as the holosim started. He didn't really know who was in the TIE. It didn't matter. He had to vape the bastard as quickly as possible and talk to Winter.

"Go!" Bex's voice in his ear coincided with the sudden appearance of dark space around him. There was no launch sequence or run-up to the battle; suddenly, he was head to head with an Eyeball screaming right at him.

Reflexively he flipped the proton torpedo switched and pulled the trigger. The TIE exploded immediately before the other Player even got off a shot.

Wes didn't wait for Bex to call it. He pulled off his helmet and jumped out of the holosim to the sound of the crowd roaring at him.

"Son of a bitch!" The other Player was out of his holosim and shouting at Wes. "You're supposed to line up first! You didn't even let me take a shot!" Wes had seen the guy around before. He was a young human Wes had Played only once, but beaten handily. Apparently, he hadn't been properly impressed with Wes's superior skills, but he didn't have time to bother with that now. He had to talk to Winter.

"You snooze you lose." Wes sneered dismissively as he started to wade through the crowd to find Winter.

Someone hooked his arm from behind and whirled him around. It was the other Player, still sputtering at him. "You cheated! You knew it was coming. Did Bex put you up to this?"

Bex lumbered over with a dark scowl on his face. "You little dickwad. It's not my fault you're not good enough to keep up." He stood side to side with Wes now, the two of them presenting a double wide front of bristling muscle and fierce glare against the furious accusations of the other Player. Three more Players stepped up beside Wes's erstwhile opponent, pulling themselves up to full height and trying their hardest to imitate the belligerent posture of holovid bad guys.

"Kriff you," the leader said spitefully.

Wes and Bex looked at each other and suddenly, Wes grinned gleefully. Finally. Some real action. "Looks like these dickwads need to be taught some manners," he said. Bex nodded in agreement and took the first swing.

In the ensuing melee, Wes jumped from one pathetically flailing Player to another, not really caring who they were or whose side they were on. He was pumped up and wanting to pound something hard. The impact of his fists on soft flesh and hard skulls was almost musical to his heightened senses and electrified reflexes. Each density had its own tone and pitch that when put together created a symphony in his ears. Wes was the maestro and human flesh was his instrument.

Not taking a single blow – or not feeling it if he did – Wes whirled through the pack of ungrateful ranat whelps, laying one flat out on his backside here, doubling one over with a punch to the solar plexus there. It was invigorating and utterly consuming. Thoughts of the mission, of Winter, of Chiz and spies burned away in a white hot flash of glorious ecstasy, his triumph soaring within him.

"Stop this!" The sharp shout barely penetrated the haze of euphoria surrounding Wes, his fists and feet finding another target and adding another stanza to his masterpiece. A rough hand grabbed the back of his collar in a vise grip and yanked him off his latest victim, who lay moaning on the floor, bleeding out of his nose and cut lip. "I said stop!"

Slowly Wes's eyes came into focus again and his hands and feet stopped scrambling to find yet more contact with flesh. The glitterstim was wearing off, he realized, and with it came the realization that the huge vise grip on his neck belonged to none other than Chant. His mission flooded back into his brain and he frantically surveyed the room trying to find Winter. She was beside him in a flash, supporting his arm as she deftly pulled him away from Chant, clucking over his injuries. Oh yeah, now he felt them.

"What's going on here?" asked Chant forcefully. "Bex, what the hell are you doing to my party?"

Bex picked himself up off the floor and casually wiped his bloody knuckles on his pants. "Nothing, boss. Just teaching some gits some manners." He crossed to the bar and pulled out several bottles of Corellian whiskey. "Shots are on me."

Chant turned his gaze on Wes and Winter, who gazed steadily back at him, waiting for his reaction. "Tell me what happened," he ordered.

"Sore loser." Wes shrugged, still breathing heavily. "Guess he can't acknowledge the preeminent Master in the room when he sees him."

Chant's eyes narrowed. "You think that's you?"

"Don't think. Know." Wes slurred the words around his fat lip and managed to twist it into a sneer. "This lot is pathetic. I took him out with one shot and he thinks I cheated." His voice was climbing, growing louder so it would carry to everyone in the room. "That was skill, boy! Skill! I challenge anyone to say different. I'll shoot their pansy ass, too!"

Chant's head twisted to take in the crowd in the room, half of them standing way back warily while watching the other half try to crawl off the floor. A deep chuckle emanated not unpleasantly from his throat.

"It seems you have no more challengers," Chant said sardonically. "Except me."

Wes pinned Chant with a hot stare, his breath still burning in his chest. "It's your party. You gonna roust me when you lose?"

Chant grinned ferally. "I won't lose but why don't we Play and find out?"

"I get the Headhunter," said Wes.

"Of course," responded Chant mildly as he motioned for Bex to set the machine up again. They both took their helmets and stepped into the holosim as a crowd gathered, the fight quickly forgotten in favor of this next, even greater entertainment.

Wes shot Winter a glance as he stepped in the holosim. She only nodded imperceptibly and offered a tight smile. He pushed the helmet on his head and sat down in the pilot's seat, grasping the joystick in front of him. Bex's countdown rang in his ears and this time there was a launch sequence before he was hurtled sharply into the bright glare and frantic chaos of atmospheric combat.

He had no time to line up on Chant. Hell, he couldn't even see Chant. The glare was devastatingly white, punctuated only by the fierce orange and red of constant explosions as a fierce war waged around him. At first he didn't know where he was. It was a very low altitude battle, almost ground level. He could see TIEs screaming in for strafing runs on ground targets, barely challenged by the other Z-95 Headhunters.

No, not Headhunters. X-Wings! By God, those were X-Wings and he was fighting Imperial TIEs! With a sharp intake of breath, he recognized the bright glare of the endless snowy plains of Hoth beneath him, only this time he wasn't watching the action from the rear view as Wedge's gunner on a snowspeeder. This time he was the pilot in one of the few X-Wings that got off the ground to protect the evacuating Rebel forces and he was out for blood.

A blood curling cry escaped Wes involuntarily as he dove into a line of TIEs. His targeting comp glowed red and he squeezed the trigger with a vicious pleasure and watched three TIEs in a row fly right into his deadly spray. He howled in triumph and circled around for the next run.

A low chuckle echoed in his ear. "I thought you'd like this scenario," the voice said. It took a second for Wes to identify the speaker not as Bex – the only voice he had ever heard speak to him in the helmet – but as Chant. It was effective as a bucket of ice water being dumped on his head. He stilled his passion and focused his mind on his mission. This wasn't Hoth. His friends weren't being killed. He was here for Chant.

"Where are you, you motherless Sithspawn? Waggle those big ears for me and I'll vape them clean off."

"Oh, I don't think so," Chant retorted calmly. "We've got some negotiating to do before that."

Wes paused verbally but his hands continued as if on autopilot. Another TIE exploded in front of him.

"Here?" Wes asked cautiously.

"We're secure." Chant assured him. "I have what you want. I'm hoping you have what I want."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Wes asked suspiciously. "A head to head battle? Now put up or shut up. I'm getting tired of all you pretenders thinking you can play in the real world." Wes flipped the switch for his proton torpedoes and had the pleasure of seeing the top of a hulking AT-AT explode and collapse heavily on its mighty legs.

"I couldn't care less about the battle," Chant said. "I wanted you here."

Wes's blood ran cold. "A trap? For little old me? What have I done to you?" He switched back to his laser and took out two more TIEs that had the audacity to target him.

"Oh, not a trap," Chant hurriedly assured him. "I fully intend to keep my end of the deal. But I needed a real pilot here. And you _are _a real pilot, aren't you? And you were at Hoth, judging from your reaction."

"And you weren't, you little snot," Wes snarled. "Now tell me what you want so I can get back to killing the bad guys so pissants like you can play your stupid little games in peace."

Chant's chuckle was tinged with nervousness. "Touchy, touchy." An X-Wing that was flying wingman for Wes exploded on his port side and his ship rocked with the force of it. "I didn't get you, did I?" Chant asked sweetly.

In reply, Wes twisted the rudder hard to aft and tried to zero in on where the shot had come from. He laid down an intense barrage of laser fire from two laser cannons in rapid succession. Three TIEs blew up immediately while two more nose dived into the ground with trails of smoke behind them.

"Still there?" Wes jeered.

"I recognized you that first night, you know." Chant said in reply over the comm channel. "I knew it was you and the broad."

"Then why make us wait?"

"Have you had a chance to play all the Players?" he asked.

"You're getting on my nerves, pretty boy." Wes growled, making it an all-purpose invective while he searched the battlescape around him for any sign of Chant and a quick end to this charade.

"Answer me." Chant snapped. "Have you played all my first level Players?"

"Of course," Wes answered. "And I've beat them all, too."

"I'm sure you have," Chant soothed. "Now all you have to do is tell me which one of them is the real pilot like you."

"What?" asked Wes. "What's this about?"

Chant let out a heavy sigh into the mike. "I've got a spy in my organization and much as it pains me to tell you this, I can't figure out who it is."

"And you didn't think to warn my people first?" Wes' voice was quiet and dangerous.

"Every organization has spies." Chant's shrug came through the comm system loud and clear. "I just need you to tell me who it is and I'll complete our transaction."

"How the hell am I supposed to know who it is?" Wes asked. Another AT-AT burst apart as he flew overhead.

"I've been able to determine the spy is trained as a TIE pilot. I figured you would be able to tell which one of the Players is a real pilot. That would be my spy."

Wes barely restrained a loud guffaw. He did know who the spy was, but not because of their piloting skills. Chiz may have had some sort of TIE training, but she was either hiding that training really well or – more likely – had never had what it took in the first place. The irony that he only knew this information because of the Spice was not lost on him. "If I tell you who it is, are you going to kill them?"

"Of course not." Chant dismissed his concern airily. "If I do that, my enemies will just send another spy. I want to know who it is so I can _manage_ them."

"Then you will give us your topographical database and other map related data?" Wes asked suspiciously.

"Of course."

"Fine. Fork over the data to my partner and I'll tell you who she is." Wes punctuated the offer with a staggered burst of fire from all four laser cannons in the direction he guessed Chant was.

"Tell me who – wait, she?" Chant stumbled over his own words as he struggled to maintain control of his TIE while it bucked and shuddered in the wake of the destruction Wes had wrought. "You already know? Sith, tell me now!"

"Not a chance," Wes taunted. "We get the data first. As soon as we get out of here, you take my partner and go get it."

"I can't just go off like that," Chant protested. "I've got a reputation to uphold. My own people will start asking questions if I go off with her."

"Tell you what," Wes said. "You all seem hell bent on having a swinging party here, why don't you and her get cozy, then go off and have a private party."

"She would agree to party with me?" Chant sounded surprised.

Wes let out a loud snort. "Hell, no. It's just a pretext, asshole. Try anything besides forking over the data and you will regret it, I guarantee it. I don't think I even know one tenth of the ways to kill a person that she knows, and I know a lot."

Chant paused. "And what about the spy?"

"I'll get cozy with her after I see you two go off. You can ask Bex when you get back who I hooked up with."

Chant was silent for several moments and Wes took the opportunity to shoot another TIE and send it careening into an AT-AT, knocking it to its knees. He whooped at his two-fer and crowed at Chant over the comm..

"Fine," Chant finally agreed. "But one more thing. You have to let me win." A fierce salvo came at Wes from an awkward angle on his port side, grazing the side of his foil slightly. One tap of his stick and he could easily be out of the line of fire.

"Little prick." Wes snarled and turned into the salvo.

--ooOoo--

"It was a good try," Bex rumbled as he handed Wes a shot of Correllian whisky.

"I could have had him," Wes said, knowing Bex would take it as mere bravado. "He blindsided me."

"Aww, you did great, West!" Chiz's dark eyes gazed hotly at Wes as she rubbed her hand on his arm. "Chant's the best. Nobody can beat him."

Wes humphed and held Chiz's gaze for a long moment before turning back to Bex. "Sorry about Rima, buddy."

Bex shifted uncomfortably and cast a quick look at Rima as she departed the room, hanging on Chant's arm seductively. "Yeah, whatever. There's always next time, eh?" Bex reached into the locked cabinet behind him and drew out three black vials.

"Want to try the Andris, Jasso?" Bex leered at Chiz. "Makes the experience incredible no matter who it is." Chiz was too busy jumping at the vial he offered her to notice the insult.

"Thanks, I'll stick with the glitterstim," Wes said. He had no clue whether Winter's ­­­­little white patch would work for other forms of spice and he wasn't about to test it. Now that Chant and Winter were gone, he figured he had about a half hour to figure out what Chiz was up to – and make a show for Bex.

Bex shrugged and exchanged one of the vials before they all opened them and ingested. Once again the blast exploded the room into colors and sounds and textures he had never seen before. Chiz's blue hair took on the most enticing azure sheen he had ever seen and the pools of her eyes deepened to black holes, beckoning him in irresistibly.

Before he could stop himself, his hand was up and his fingers were buried deep in her hair. It was as silky soft as he thought it would be, reminding him of the tropical beaches on the vacation world Opratu where the deep blue waters caressed the skin and the white, powdered sand warmed a man almost as well as a woman. The sensation felt amazing across his sensitized fingertips and he marveled at how such spectacular visions could be so bad for him. It seemed so… fantastical. Preposterous, even.

Chiz's giggle caught his attention and he focused his pupils with difficulty. She looked up at him through coyly downcast lashes and leaned in slightly against him. "You like?" she whispered. _I've got you,_ she thought.

Wes was half way to tasting her darkly plump lips before he stopped and looked up at Bex. "Don't mind me," he rumbled as he turned away. _Been there, done that. Nothing to write home about._ "I've got other things to do." Bex left them sitting there and headed for a group of mostly female Players a couple tables away.

_Good, got rid of that loser. Coophé didn't want Bex, but he'll like West, I'm sure of it._ The thought came clear as day from Chiz and Wes had to catch himself before he responded out loud. _Now to get West outside._

"Where were we?" Wes asked and captured her mouth with his. He didn't try to be gentle or even particularly artful about it. He meant only to give Bex a show and let Chiz think she was successfully seducing him into her trap, whatever it was. He hadn't counted on the spike of sensation the glitterstim provided when his very male body reacted to the feel of a female body rubbing against his. He hadn't counted on the potent visual images he was receiving from her mind, either. Whatever else she wanted, she wasn't faking the sexual attraction. _Hot damn,_ thought Wes, glad she couldn't read his thoughts.

With difficulty, he finally pulled back from her and bottom-ended another shot of whiskey. "Yowza, baby," he drawled. "That was one hot kiss."

"Yeah," Chiz giggled, twirling her hair beside him. "The spice will do that every time." _First sex, then I'll take him outside. Coophé can wait until I've had my pleasure before he gets his._

Wes cleared his throat and poured them both another shot and drained it. "You, uh, come to these parties a lot?" It wasn't hard to sound breathless from her charms. "How long have you been working for Chant?"

"Little over a year." Chiz replied. _Ever since I flunked out of the Academy. Best thing that ever happened to me._ "I almost beat him in a TIE on TIE fight and he offered me a job." _Chant provides for me in more ways than one and he doesn't even know it. Stupid sucker._

Wes blinked and reached out to caress her cheek to cover any expression that might betray his surprise at the dual tracked dialog he was hearing. "Chiz is an interesting name,' he said slowly as he traced a line across her cheek, then down her neck and across the neckline of her top. "Is that your real name or a handle?"

_I used to be Dorina Glane but Chiz is who I really am._ "Yeah, I was named after Chizadee Glee, the holovid star, you know." She looked down at Wes's fingers that had stopped their travels and had come to rest at the bottom of the deep V front of her top. Her hand came up to rub the outside of his thigh as he sat on his stool at the bar. "That's delicious," she moaned. _More, more._

Wes stared at the inviting cleavage beneath his hand and struggled to remember what he was going to say. Chiz jumped down from her stool and leaned into him while he stayed rooted to his. Both her hands now caressed the outside of his thighs that cleverly surrounded her supple form. He knew he had a purpose in talking to her but the roaring of his blood at his imminent conquest was drowning out the questions in his mind.

"Um," Wes gulped. "A holovid star? You're well-named then since you're beautiful enough to be one. What brought you to Chant instead of pursuing a dream holovid career?"

_Chiz is my dream and you're going to help me keep her._ "You think I'm beautiful?" she giggled coyly, her body jiggling bewitchingly with her laughs. _Stop talking and kiss me again._ Wes complied unthinkingly, his body on fire with the sheer physical lust coursing through him. There was something else he needed to ask but he couldn't think what it was right now.

His hands reached behind Chiz to cup the curves of her behind and pull her in tight against him. They both hitched their breath as the enhanced pleasure of the near-direct stimulation caught them both. "You want to take this somewhere more private?" Wes growled in her ear as he nibbled it forcefully and ground her against him roughly.

Chiz waved a hand weakly toward the wall. "There's an empty couch over there," she murmured, nipping just as forcefully at his neck. Wes inhaled sharply as he saw what she was suggesting and struggled to comprehend the images of several other couches already occupied with fervid, writhing couples. Chiz pulled Wes off his stool forcefully and started to drag him to the couch.

"Wouldn't you prefer someplace even more private… outside… somewhere?" Wes managed to wheeze out, struggling to remember why he thought that was important.

_The second you leave the front door Coophé will have you. But me first. Me first!_ "This is fine," she smiled, and pulled him down on top of her onto the couch.

The abstract knowledge that he actually didn't like Chiz all that much and that she was setting him up for something very unpleasant couldn't seem to make it past a faint echo in his ears. His body just didn't care and in the grip of the glitterstim, his body ruthlessly overruled any objections his mind tried to make.

He groaned as Chiz squirmed under him suggestively, pulling his mouth to hers. She was burning hot and their tongues dueled, mimicking the act about to take place. Their hands explored each other wantonly, frantically ducking under clothing, eager to add the sensation of skin on skin to their drug induced euphoria.

Suddenly Chiz went limp and stopped moving beneath him. Confusion intermingled with his sexual haze, and it took several moments for it to register that someone was poking him in the arm.

"Pull it together, Janson," Winter hissed in his ear. "We have to get out of here."

"Wait your turn," Wes blurted, brushing away her hand and trying to wake Chiz up to continue that delightful stroking she had been doing.

A sharp pain pierced him, emanating from the side of his head and travelling all the way down to his toes, not sparing the painful throbbing in his groin as it passed by.

"Ow, ow, ow!" he cried as Winter dragged him off the couch by his ear. "Damn, woman, retract your claws, would you?"

"Stick your brain back in your pants and follow me!" Winter ordered harshly.

Wes glanced down guiltily at his pants and started to zip them up when he realized they were, in fact, still zipped. She hadn't given him enough time to make that move yet. _Winter interruptus, _he thought manically. A wild giggle escaped until he stopped it cold at the sight of dead bodies lying all around the room. Not a single person was moving except him and Winter.

His eyes went wide. "You killed them all?"

Winter recoiled in disgust. "Of course not, you idiot! It's hallucinogenic stun vapor. They'll all wake up in an hour or so with vague impressions of their fondest wishes come true during the missing time. That patch contained the antidote to that, too. Now come on. I have what we came for. It's time to leave."

She pulled him forcefully toward the exit, her fingers digging painfully into his arm. Wes moved slowly, reluctantly, knowing there was something wrong with the direction she was going but not being able to say exactly what it was. The glitterstim had chosen that moment to wear off and the post-high fugue was settling in.

"What is the matter with you?" Winter demanded at his stumbling reticence. She grabbed a half-empty glass of something from a table as they passed and tossed it casually in his face.

"Aargh, woman!" Wes sputtered, wiping frantically at his eyes. "It's not enough for you to addle my brain, now you have to blind me too?"

Winter snapped her fingers in front of his face several times in rapid succession. "Focus, Janson! I need you with me, not back there on top of some blue-haired floozy!"

Wes stiffened. "I was interrogating her," he protested piously. "She was a spy."

"Interrogating my ass." Winter muttered quickly under her breath before continuing in a more cold tone. "What do you mean, a spy?"

"An Imperial agent of some sort. Maybe." Wes informed her. His head was finally starting to clear and reality was snapping back with a vengeance. "I don't know the full story but I got enough to know she's selling Chant out for a chance to keep on being Chiz. Seems she likes the play and the spice."

"Did she know who we were?"

"No," Wes shook his head. "She bought our cover and was setting me up to be 'recruited' for something. If we go out through _The Cave_," Wes pointed in the direction Winter had been heading. "There is somebody named Coophé waiting to capture me and take me away somewhere for Force knows what."

Winter opened the door to the hallway cautiously, noting the two guards still sleeping blissfully from the stun vapor. She looked at the door leading back to _The Cave_ thoughtfully as she considered what Wes had said. "No time to puzzle out those details," she said finally. "They don't concern us. We'll go out the other way. Stay sharp, though, in case they have more people posted." Winter pulled a holdout blaster from her sleeve and handed it to Wes. "Take this." Stepping back in the room and walking through the pile of bodies littered throughout the room, she found Bex's large frame and rolled him over to pluck a blaster from the holster under his jacket.

"How come you get the big gun and I'm stuck with the peashooter?" Wes complained.

"Because I picked the right Rogue?" Winter said straight-faced. "Don't worry. Size isn't everything." She whirled and stalked back into the hallway, turning left toward the Bith nightclub.

"Did you just make a joke?" Wes asked, incredulous as he hurried to follow her retreating form. "And a _phallic_ joke at that? Tycho is going to wash your mouth out with soap when I tell him you said that."


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

"What do you mean you're not going with me?" Wes protested. The false facial tattoo crinkled with his expression of surprise. It stood in stark contrast to his slicked-up brightly white hair and oversized ear jewelry that hung off his left lobe.

"I've got a lot more to do," Winter explained, her now mouse brown hair and plain tunic over common worker's leggings making her as unnoticeable as Wes was noticeable. They were necessary disguises to protect Wes's exit from Coruscant, just in case West and Rima had attracted any unwanted attention. "My job on Coruscant has just begun. Take the datacard I gave you to General Cracken and tell him everything we did here."

Wes frowned. "You're staying here all by yourself?"

"Need to know, Wes." Winter sidestepped his question easily as she picked up his travel bag and handed it to him. "Your transport is loading now."

Wes looked over his shoulder at the line of beings assembling to board the shuttle that would take him to the passenger cruiser _Jasmine's Star_. It would go as far as Corellia, where he would make the first of several transfers that would ultimately take him to New Republic Headquarters.

He looked torn, concern for Winter etched on his face but knowing she wouldn't appreciate anything other than an acknowledgement of their duties. Impulsively, he hugged her fiercely and kissed her forehead affectionately. "Take care of yourself," he gruffed. "You're the best. If you need anything else, you know I'll be there for you."

"Thanks, Wes." Winter smiled at his emotional farewell. He had been acting strange – even for Wes - ever since they left _The Cave_ last night and she was betting it had something to do with the spice. The psychological effects were probably stronger than he had expected, but she knew he would get through it. He was a Rogue, after all. "You did good, you know." She kissed him on the cheek and hugged his broad shoulders tight while he humphed in reply.

"Oh, and Wes?" Winter said hesitantly, taking a step backwards. "When you talk to Tycho, don't mention the L-word, ok? I haven't told him yet and I think that should come from me." She ducked her head shyly for a brief moment before recovering her usual confidence. "Ok?"

Wes flashed a wicked grin. "Only if I get to be the flower girl at the wedding."

"If you'll wear a dress, you have a deal.' Winter answered, almost keeping a straight face, relieved that he hadn't lost his sense of humor no matter how horrid it was.

"Be careful what you wish for," Wes replied. They chuckled together and hugged again before Wes made his way up the ramp to the shuttle. His last view of Winter was of her back, her disguise allowing her to fade effortlessly into the teeming population of Imperial Center, soon to be known once again as Coruscant.

The trip home was as painfully slow as the trip in had been. Wes fidgeted in his seat, chafing at the necessity for keeping a low profile, wishing he had somebody to talk to. If his fearsome appearance wasn't enough to keep people away, the self-contained audio/video entertainment system that he wore around his head was an obvious clue to all his neighbors that he didn't want to be disturbed.

The truth was he felt foolish and embarrassed and more than a little conflicted. His rational mind hated what the spice had done to him, overwhelming him with the vision of a spectacular world full of incredible colors, intricately woven patterns and forbidden knowledge, all wrapped in a glorious feeling of sheer power. It was a sensation he was not likely to forget soon, not if his body had anything to say about it. Ruthlessly, Wes once again crushed the incessant whispered promises of untold pleasures and triumphs that would come with more glitterstim. Brushing off a latent spike of anger at himself, at Winter, at General Cracken, at Bex and Chant, at the Empire, and at evil itself, he sighed and rolled his head to stretch his stiff neck muscles. _Just part of the job_, he thought. _Let it go._

It hadn't been anything like what he was used to. Despite his outward appearance of confidence, inwardly he had felt out of his element and unprepared the whole time. He didn't like that feeling. He didn't like it at all. He had extensive training as a pilot, as a gunner, and as a combat operative, and he had still felt ill-prepared for this mission. No rules, no parameters, no boundaries. That was a problem. 'Shoot anything that moves' was a very straightforward rule that he could easily understand. With intelligence work, you never knew what the rules were, or when they changed, or when they all went out the window. How do you prepare for that?

Wes watched the streaks of hyperspace slide by and pondered the tactical problem presented. That was his real job, after all. He was one of a team of people responsible for analyzing the threats the New Republic faced and then creating and training new units to counter those threats and rid the galaxy of the Empire forever. He had a lot more to consider now. Pilots had a lot to offer Intelligence. He knew there were going to be repeated situations where a pilot's unique perspective and battle-honed situational awareness would be an asset. If a pilot had the additional skills that Winter had – intrusion, slicing, subterfuge and discreet weapons for handling unanticipated problems – that pilot would be invaluable.

Wedge would want to hear all about this mission. Yes, he would talk to Wedge the first chance he got. Wedge would grasp the strategic implications on training and future mission objectives. And maybe Tycho, too.

A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he thought about his next visit to Tycho. His old friend should be recovering well, by now. He would no doubt be anxious to hear all about his adventures with the lovely Dame Winter. The smile broke out into a full-fledged grin as he thought about just the right way to enlighten Tycho with the tales of his exploits. It was a damn good thing that Winter wouldn't be there to contradict him. Damn good.

--ooOoo-- _finis_ --ooOoo--


End file.
